This Means War
by Suess MD
Summary: Ayame was a normal high schooler, living a normal life. Until she declared war on the Seigaku High Tennis Club, that is. A prank war ensues! No pairing. Contains OCs. Rated to be safe, probably only K.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I do not, by any stretch of the imagination, own Prince of Tennis.

**This Means War**

Normal- Adjective- Conforming to the standard or the common type; usual; not abnormal; regular; natural.

I am normal, true to the last letter of the definition. My name is Suzuki Ayame, and I am a third year at Seigaku High. I am an A- student, with the outstanding exceptions of Home Economics, which I pass only by the grace of Kami-sama every year. I'm not extraordinarily popular, but nor am I a social misfit. I have my group of good friends and I stick with them.

I transferred from Chiba to Seigaku before my second year. The next year, the tennis team won the National tournament, and sure, I was as excited as the next person. I mean, my school had just proven that it was the best at something out of the entire country. And considering the total population of Japan is over one hundred twenty-seven _million, _(though, granted, most of them aren't tennis-playing middle school students . . .) that's pretty impressive.

The difference between me, and most of the female Seigaku students was that I didn't idolize the tennis players forevermore. That was partly because I thought the whole concept of dating was huge waste of time, and secondly because I was acquainted with Kawamura Takashi, which made them seem a little more . . . reachable, I suppose. Most girls viewed them as icons, heroes, people on levels so completely different from them that they could never even come close.

But I knew Taka-san from before tennis, when he took karate. We went to the same dojo, and I knew him and Akutsu. I have trouble keeping my mind on one topic, and I'm usually constantly flitting from hobby to hobby, but karate has always been different. My older brother was picked on when he was younger, and took karate to protect himself. He had a lot of fun with it, and being young and impressionable, as soon as I was old enough, I started taking it myself. Now that I'm 16, I'm a black belt and I do more teaching than learning. My brother has gone on internationally competing, and he comes home every now and again to give me a taste of humble pie, then teach me some of what he's learned in other parts of the world.

Otherwise, I can't stick with anything, which was something Taka and I had in common, though he's gotten better at settling down and sticking to his decisions, and I haven't. I stay with a hobby or a club for a few months, just long enough to pick up the basics, then something else sparks my interest, and off I go. This has given me the skills of a super-mediocre jack of all trades.

Nothing, however, in my life was remotely worth reporting before the middle of the first semester of my third year of high school, in which I declared war on the Seigaku tennis club.

A/N: I know this is kind of a pointless chapter…. It's just for background. I'll start the plot next time, promise, so stick around. I listed this under the Humor genre, but I'm not usually a very funny person so it may end up being more general.


	2. Chapter 1: Reason to Scowl

Disclaimer: I don't own Prince of Tennis

**This Means War**

It started out as a normal day. Big surprise. I was diligently suffering through my Japanese History class, taking scarce notes on war tactics in WWII. I was in an advanced history class, largely due to my parents pushing. The teacher had a beautifully monotone voice that could lull anybody to sleep, so I truly didn't believe that anyone in class was paying much attention.

I stood corrected, though. As I watched the seconds until the bell slowly drain away from the clock, the teacher made a little mistake in the dates. Now, ninety percent of the population wouldn't have known the difference, but since this was an advanced class, there was one person who not only noticed, but had the guts to call him on it.

Tezuka Kunimitsu. The golden boy of Seigaku. He's the captain of the tennis team, vice president of the student council, and has one of the highest GPA's in the entire school. He's good-looking, too, and the combination of being both responsible and perfect fan-girl obsession material causes everyone in the school – teachers, students, maybe even the principle to lick his shoes. Okay, that might be a bit of an over statement, but it doesn't change the fact that he's one of those people who are just naturally perfect.

I can't stand people like him. I've grown to accept the fact that some people are lucky enough to be born better than others. But, I am also a firm believer in the policy 'be thankful for what you have.' And never once have I seen the golden boy smile, despite the fact that he has _everything._

I've hated him silently since junior high. Because even as he stood waving the National's flag, he just stood there looking like he deserved it. But lucky for the rest of the world, I'm usually pretty good at just hating silently until that person goes away.

Usually. Keyword. Unfortunately, my brooding little puddle of jealousy got a little excited when it heard that Tezuka was arranging to go to a European high school, for special perfect people like him. So I may have popped a vain or two when I discovered that Yamamoto, the captain of the tennis club until Tezuka took over, somehow managed to convince him to stay for four years, and change that overseas contract into something for university.

I had been able to avoid him for two years, but since my parents weren't happy with my grades in my freshman year they pushed me so hard in sophomore that I ended up having most of my classes with him. Absolutely unbearable, listening to him correct the teachers like he ruled the world. This situation was not helped by the fact that my best guy friend, Kondo Taro, had decided to join the tennis club, and was now a regular. Kondo is a bit of a jock, and he's the one that originally got Taka-san interested in tennis. He's been playing for years, and while he doesn't have the physics-defying moves some of the regulars do, his basic tennis skills are so solid it doesn't matter.

Kondo also took karate with Taka and I. We had to go to the dojo after tennis practice. Actually, I should have been there earlier, but I had detention for falling asleep in math earlier that day. It just so happened that my detention ended at nearly the same time as his practice, so I made my way out to the tennis courts to wait for them. There were no tournaments in the near future, which meant that there was nobody there but the tennis players, and, of course, their horde of fan girls.

"Kondo!" I shouted, trying to get through the crowd of squealing girls. Of course, since I was short and just one voice in many, he didn't hear me. Great.

Lucky for me, or, in retrospect, maybe not, the girls around me suddenly dispersed. Soon I was the only girl left standing around the tennis courts.

And standing in front of me was none other than Tezuka himself, his specialized school-girl scaring aura emanating from his body. For a second, I was tempted to take a step back, but instead I opted to set my jaw and stubbornly stay exactly where I was.

"Please leave," Tezuka told me, "You're disrupting practice."

If it had been anyone him, I would have left and everything would have been fine. But it was him, and I lost my temper. "Why should I? I'm not on the tennis courts, and I'm not screaming. If you're willing to let all your fans stick around and squeal, can't I just stand here quietly?"

Tezuka's eyes hardened even more. "Leave," he said, in a tone that tolerated no argument, "Now."

"Are you stupid?!" I demanded, "I'll spell it out for you – I. Said. NO." I said it slowly and sarcastically.

I really don't know what it would have escalated into, since I was arguing with someone so stoic it was nearly like shouting at a brick wall. But at that moment exactly, Kondo came over and grabbed my collar.

"Ignore her, buchou," he said, dragging me away, "I'll take care of her."

Kondo brought me to the back of the locker room and pushed me up against a wall. "What are you thinking?" he demanded.

I looked away sullenly. "I was waiting for you. It's none of his business where I stand. Practice was nearly over, and I wasn't bothering anyone."

Kondo, at this point, realized that I wasn't going to listen to any kind of reason, so gave up trying. "You're either really brave, or really stupid;" he informed me, "Just wait by the front gate, okay? I'll go see if I can get buchou to spare your life."

I snorted, "He's too perfect to get angry. I'm sure my life isn't in any danger."

Kondo just gave me a withering look and walked away. I went out and stood by the main gate to the school while I waited for him to finish practice. As I waited, I stewed over my irritation with Tezuka, and because I was so distracted with my own musing, I didn't notice that anyone was coming until I was hugged from behind.

A word of advice for naturally clingy people: make sure you know the reaction of the person you're hugging and the mood of said person before any hugging is done. I had spent one too many hours in a dojo, and I was in a bad mood, which made my immediate reaction to throw the hugger over my shoulder and onto the ground. The unfortunate victim was Kikumaru Eiji, a jumpy kid that played doubles on the tennis team, though his favorite doubles partner, Oishi Shuichiro went to a different school in the area to study to be a doctor.

"Ahh!" Eiji gasped as he hit the ground. Kondo hit his forehead, and it took me a good fifteen seconds to process what I'd done.

"Oops." I said holding out a hand. "Sorry."

"Nya, Taro-san . . . you have a really scary girlfriend!" he said, allowing himself to be pulled up. "Brave too, to talk to buchou like that!"

I twitched, an invisible vein somewhere in my forehead popping. What gave these tennis players the right to decide I was not only a stalking fangirl, but Kondo's girlfriend? "I am not, nor will I ever be, dating Kondo," I clarified.

"Sure~!" Eiji said, rubbing the back of his head. His tone clearly indicated he didn't believe me. Two more of the tennis regulars emerged from the gate, bothering Eiji about burgers or something along those lines, and I grabbed Kondo's wrist.

"Enough's enough. Let's go," I said, dragging him after me. Kondo caught up with me and removed his arm from my grasp.

"So, explain this to me," he said, "Who exactly did the buchou kill that made you so upset with him?"

"He's an ungrateful, self-pitying, hypocritical moron!" I exploded. "I'm sick of putting up with him and his perfecter-than-thou attitude. He's got everyone sulking at his feet, but he doesn't even appreciate it! He should try living in someone else's shoes and see if he maybe can't find a reason to smile with everything he has." I walked in silence for a moment and Kondo digested my outburst.

"At the hospital," I began more slowly, referring to the large medical center for children that my parents ran, "I've seen teenagers with deadly illnesses that still smile and laugh. Someone who has everything served to them on a silver platter and acts so sad and solemn all the time . . . it's not stoic, just ungrateful."

I think that just as I was finishing up that sentence that an idea formulated in my partially jealous, partially scornful, and entirely angry mind. _Stupid brat . . . _I mused to myself; _I'll give you a reason to scowl!_

And thus, my war with the tennis club began.

A/N: Pretty long this time . . . over 1400 words. The regulars will play a bigger part later, promise. Please review, and tell me how to make my OCs better, and how to keep the regulars in character, since I think I'm pretty bad at that. Constructive criticisms welcome, but please no flames just for the purpose of flaming.


	3. Chapter 2: Flourescent Pink

Disclaimer: I don't own Prince of Tennis.

**This Means War**

"Oww . . ." I complained as I walked to school. Kondo since he was my neighbor, as well as my friend, was next to me. I was rubbing my aching muscles from yesterday.

"Really," he said, shaking his head, "You were so into training yesterday, and now you whine about being sore today?"

I stuck my tongue out at him, but I had something else on my mind. I was desperately trying to come up with a plan to bother Tezuka. The initial thought had been to just disturb his precious tennis practice, but I realized that would affect one too many innocent lives for my taste. Lucky for me, I knew exactly who to ask for ideas.

"Nothing's bothering me," I informed Kondo, "I'm going ahead. I want to try to catch Kazuko."

"Should I be worried?" he said, because he knew as well as I did Kazuko's passion for tricks.

I just smiled, waved, and ran. "Let's see . . ." I thought. I went into the main building and into a second-year class room, until I saw the conspicuous scarlet-highlighted head that I was looking for. "Kazuko-chan!" I called, weaving through the throng of students coming in.

"Can I consult with you about . . . something in PE today?" I asked.

She got that creepy little smirk of hers on her face, "Why, of course, senpai. I'm always willing to help somebody up to no good."

I gave my own specialized creepy smile in return. "Excellent."

Ono Kazuko is one of my closest friends, even though she's a year younger than me. I met her during one of my many brief club experiences, the literature club. I didn't learn much literature at the time, though, because I was too busy learning how to pick locks and open windows. Kazuko may seem innocent, but she's one of the best pranksters I know. She would have an idea to put Tezuka in his place.

Four insufferably boring periods later, I finally got a chance to talk to Kazuko. "I want to put the tennis captain in his place," I told her bluntly. I told her all about the little situation yesterday, and she was happy to help. After all, it wasn't very often someone actually asked her to help prank such an important, respectable student.

"The best way to bother someone like Tezuka-san," she said, "Is to affect their dignity. Obviously."

I had figured that much out myself, but in the interest of being polite, I cut the 'Duh' I'd been tempted to add to my sentence and said, "So, how do I do that?"

Kazuko tipped her head and tapped one finger against the base of her neck, a weird habit she has when she's thinking. "Does Kondo shower after tennis practice?" she asked at last.

That was not the kind of question I was expecting, but I answered it none the less. "Yeah, they all do. Why?"

"I bought this fluorescent pink hair dye the other day," she explained, "It's clear until it dries. It would mix quite well with shampoo, I should think . . ."

I struggled, and failed, to hold back my laughter at the thought of Tezuka with fluorescent pink hair. "Perfect!" I said when I'd recovered. "Absolutely perfect! One question, though. How do I access Tezuka's shampoo?"

It seemed like a perfectly reasonable question to me, but Kazuko waved the question off. "Oh, that's easy," she said with a grin, "You act like you belong."

* * *

And thus, before school the next day, during the boy's tennis practice, I stood outside the locker room with the hair dye, supplied by Kazuko, hidden in the janitor's bucket.

Kondo spotted me right before I headed into the locker room. "Ayame? What are you doing here, and why are you going into the _boy's_ locker room?"

I was prepared for this, though. "I got cleaning duty for being late to class," I announced. I then held out a mop with a ridiculous, taunting grin. "If you feel violated, I'd be happy hand the duty over to you."

"You were late again?" he said, "Aren't you supposed be the smart one, between the two of us?"

I was a little confused by that remark. "Who decided that?"

He sighed, "Never mind. I'll leave you to your punishment, then," he said with an evil grin hurrying away before I could force him to help me clean. Not that I would do anything of the sort, of course, because I needed to be alone of this little operation to be a success.

After entering the locker room, I headed straight for the showers. The trick was to find the one Tezuka used, and try to avoid as many . . . innocent bystanders as possible. At first, I didn't have any idea how to distinguish which bottle of shampoo was his, but then I spotted the glasses case. And nearby that, a few very high level school textbooks.

"Bingo," I sang to myself. I carefully dumped out part of the shampoo and mixed in the dye, which would stay wet because of the shampoo. After carefully replacing the bottle, I proceeded to clean the locker room, even though I had never been assigned to.

That was the part of the plan I hated.

* * *

In the first class of the day, math, I anxiously awaited Tezuka's new hairstyle. I had been imagining the look on the face of everyone in the class all, night, and I was so excited it was all I could do not to burst into song.

So imagine my disappointment when Tezuka walked into the room, looking a little more irritated than normal, with perfectly ordinary brown hair.

And instead imagine the looks on everybody's face when Inui Sadaharu, tennis team manager and data master, walked in with fluorescent pink hair.

The _high level_ student with _glasses _walked through the classroom isle, with every pair of eyes in the entire room following him. I think the teacher choked on his coffee, and the reason for Tezuka's irritation became apparent, because Fuji Syusuke, the third and final tennis regular in my math class, walked in chuckling.

I had no doubt that the other regulars had a field day making fun of Inui's new hairstyle. And Tezuka had tried to control them, obviously failing. So maybe the mission wasn't a total failure, but it sure didn't have the results I'd planned.

"Oops," I whispered to myself. At the time, I didn't notice Inui's glasses flash my direction as he heard my comment.

* * *

Kondo POV

"I – Inui . . ." Oishi stuttered. He had come to visit his old friends, as he often did, and had nearly had a heart attack after witnessing Inui's hair. I mentally sighed. He had been getting reactions like that; even though he had made it very clear it wasn't his fault. Momo had nearly passed out this morning laughing so hard.

"I was the victim of somebody's prank," Inui explained, "There was a kind of slow-reaction dye in the shampoo in the locker room."

Oishi was still trying to calm down. He was amusingly pale, but once he finally got a hold of himself, he managed to ask, "Who would do that?"

Inui shoved his glasses farther up his nose. "At first, I thought there was 50% chance it was a prank of someone on the tennis team, perhaps Eiji, Momoshiro, or Fuji, and 50% chance that it was someone on a dare. However, I now believe there is a 99% chance that it was Suzuki Ayame."

My heart sunk. Ayame had always enjoyed a little mischief, but something like this was way above her usual standard. And what's more, to my knowledge she had barely even _met_ Inui-senpai.

"Why?" I said, finally voicing my thoughts.

Inui looked at that creepy notebook of his and said, "85% chance it was a dare, possibly from Kazuko."

I mentally cursed myself for standing by as she waltzed into the clubroom. And not doing anything as she ran off so see the prankster this morning. It was very Kazuko-esque, that sort of plot. "What about the other 25%?"

"That depends on how angry she was at Tezuka yesterday," he said, "While these sorts of actions are normally considered _quite_ extreme, it's possible she didn't take kindly to being accused as a fan girl."

"Ayame's mildly bipolar," I said flatly. "I didn't think she would do something like this over that, but I also won't pretend it's not a possibility. Though I fail to see how humiliating you got her any retribution from Tezuka."

"Bipolar?" Inui said. I swear I heard him mutter, "Iie, data," as he scribbled something in his notebook.

He looked up from his data collecting and said, "Since she obviously wouldn't know whose shampoo is whose, it's a possibility she made an educated guess, and got it wrong. Perhaps she saw the case for my glasses, since buchou also wears them."

That was exactly the kind of careless mistake someone like Ayame would make. I found myself violently cursing in my head for the second time in as many minutes.

"I'll see if I can find out anything," I sighed tiredly. Usually being around Ayame wasn't a big deal. Occasionally being beaten up by a girl was a little embarrassing, but stunts like this one were way out of her league.

Or so I thought. Even if Inui thought that it was Kazuko's influence, I remembered her angry slamming of the punching bag yesterday and her absurd concentration during her fight with sensei. She was mad at Tezuka, and she was going to release her anger regardless of who got in the way. She was dangerous when she was like that.

* * *

I'll let you in on a little secret: Ayama's not bipolar. She'd even been tested, and come back negative. But she sometimes acted like she really was.

She'd been like this when she was young. Taka had quit karate in his 2nd year of junior high, and I personally think that Ayama's arrival at the dojo had something to do with it, along with his new found love for tennis.

It must have been a new experience for Taka, who was considered a prodigy just below Akutsu because of his strength, to be completely clobbered by a tiny, frail-looking girl. Taka had laughed it off, of course. He wasn't the type to let that sort of thing bother him, but I know that he was scared of her, just like everyone else she'd fought that day. Something had made her really angry, her second day at the dojo. And she had mercilessly crushed anyone who had approached her, with a destructive attitude to rival Akutsu himself. Poor Taka didn't have 'burning' mode of protect himself with, and the arrival of another angry karate prodigy was too much for his already wavering devotion to karate.

Ever since then, I've kept watch for the symptoms: a brooding attitude, being abnormally quiet and extremely rude behavior towards people she was normally polite to. And every time she got angry, I'd keep everyone away from her until she cooled off. I'd thought of it as my job, my duty to society. But this time, even though I'd seen her at karate, I'd refused to acknowledge the symptoms.

And then this had happened. I looked at Inui's hair, and tried to stifle another laugh at his expense, feeling distinctly guilty.

"Sorry," I said, leaving. Even though she hadn't done any real harm with this little prank, I wanted to make sure she was controlled before she really hurt someone. Which was a possibility I was definitely not ruling out.

* * *

A/N: Finally figured out how to use the grey line breaks! I'm so proud of me! I will be switching point of views between Kondo(being the representative of the regular's POV) and Ayama's. Please tell me if the regulars did anything horribly OOC, so I can fix it when they have bigger roles in later chapters. Like next one. Also, thanks to Frog-kun for the first review. I will always do my best to correct mistakes pointed out in reviews, but we'll see how that goes, because of my . . . questionable . . . writing talent.


	4. Chapter 3: The Boys Strike Back

Disclaimer: I _obviously_ don't own any of this. Get real.

**This Means War**

Kondo

Talking to Ayame had proved fruitless. No matter how much I pressured her, she wouldn't admit to knowing anything. In the end, I'd settled for saying, "The regulars aren't bad people, you know. Tezuka isn't bad, just . . . unresponsive. You would get along with them if you gave them a chance."

She had locked her big brown eyes on mine and said, "I have no intention of trying to get along with people who assume things and take things for granted," she said coldly. "Maybe you can get along with them, but I have a definite personality clash."

Ayame was so ridiculously stubborn sometimes it made me want to clobber her.

I made my way back to the other regulars, after deciding spending any more time with her would be a waste. "Inui!" I called, seeing the bubble-gum hair and knowing it couldn't be anyone else. He turned around.

"Yes, Kondo?" he said.

"I checked with Kazuko, and the dye will wash out by itself in a couple of days," I told him, "But she also said that getting it stripped would work just as well, though you'd have to spend some time in a salon."

"I know," he said. How he knew, I have no idea. But it is Inui, so I didn't bother asking.

"Saa, Inui?" Fuji said, approaching us. "What would you say to a little . . . retaliation?"

"No, Fuji," I protested desperately, "She'll cool off and this whole little incident will just be forgotten. If you fuel the fire, it's just going to escalate."

Fuji just smiled. "Inui?" he said, "Do you agree?"

Inui considered. "Kondo is correct. However, I do not believe that I'm going to let this incident pass without Inui Juice."

Kondo groaned internally. Inui Juice would be enough to make Ayama do something to the entire tennis team. "Please don't, Inui."

"Why not?" Fuji said, "It's tasty." His tone was partly sarcastic because He already knew no one agreed with him. I just ignored him.

"Let it go, Inui. People will forget about it in a week," I nearly begged.

Inui looked at me, his face unreadable and his eyes hidden by his thick glasses. I could tell, though, that he really wasn't going go just let it go. He silently left with Fuji in tow, and, with a sinking feeling, I followed after them.

If they were going to pull something, I was at least going to be there as a voice of reason.

Within a few minutes, Inui had gathered every regular that would approve of pranks on the team. Eiji, Momo, Fuji, Inui and I stood outside the locker room. Ryoma had tagged only with Momo and Eiji, but looked a little bored.

Inui proceeded to pull out an opaque grey water bottle. "This contains Aozu Hyper-Remix," he explained, "A juice I specifically created to take out Fuji adapted from the only juice he ever reacted to. It should be more than sufficient for Ayame."

Maybe I'm losing my mind, but I think I saw bottle move by itself, like there was something alive inside it. _I hope you survive this, Ayame, _I prayed to myself. But I didn't move to stop him. Why? Because I didn't want to get on Inui's bad side anymore than I wanted to be on Ayame's. And with her, at least, I could claim I knew nothing about it.

"According to my data, Ayame always buys her lunch," Inui said, "Which means that someone will need to distract her as someone else adds the juice. Fuji, since you are in her math class, you will be doing the distracting. Eiji, since you are the most innocent-seeming one among us that attends third year lunch, you will add the juice . . ."

And so, Inui began planning the next trigger.

* * *

The next day, I watched reluctantly from a different part of the cafeteria as Fuji approached Ayame, who was moodily shoving her food around her plate.

"Saa, you're in first period math with Tansho-sensei, right?" Fuji asked her.

"Yeah," she said, "Why?"

She looked distinctly suspicious. Did she know that we were planning something? I actually hoped that she did, because then she wouldn't get in the way of the Inui juice, and would cool off faster than if something really happened to her.

"I need to borrow your math book – mine got locked in her classroom and I want to copy the homework for tonight," he explained. I have to give Fuji credit, because even though he would likely never make such a careless mistake, his entire body radiated with a truthful innocence.

He must have had alot of practice.

Still watching his every move with dark, suspicious eyes, Ayame got up and said, "It's in my locker. Come with me and I'll get it."

_Too naïve, Ayame, _I thought sadly. At this rate, she really would be done for. I watched quietly as Eiji, giggling, poured the strange bluish liquid into the bottle of juice sitting by her lunch. Normally the color would be a dead give away, but she was drinking a very dark kind of grape juice, and there wasn't any noticeable change in the liquid.

Dread spreading through my body, she came back with Fuji. They separated at the door, and she sat down to her lunch. Now it was only a matter or time.

Or so I thought, anyway. Ayame proceeded to spend the rest of lunch chasing her food around her plate, not eating – or drinking – a single thing.

At last, as she threw her lunch away, I came after her. "You usually eat a lot," I commented, "Aren't you feeling well?"

"I'm fine," she said, "Just not hungry."

"Did something happen?" I pressured.

"It was a long night," was all she said. By now I'd known her long enough to decode that this meant someone had died in her family's hospital overnight. She had either known them pretty well or it had been a pretty gruesome death, for it to actually put her off her food.

"Bad luck, Inui," I said, finding him looking uncharacteristically confused on the edge of the cafeteria.

"It doesn't match my data," Inui insisted, "Ayame usually consumes three times as many calories as the other girls in our school. How did she know?"

"She didn't. She's not eating today," I told him.

Inui frowned thoughtfully. "Is that so? Is it a religious holiday your neglected to mention?"

"Sort of," I lied, deciding that it would easier than explaining the truth.

"Well, that's no good, now is it?" a silky voice came from behind me, making me jump.

"F-Fuji . . ." I said. It was natural, of course, that Fuji wouldn't want his efforts to go to waste. And he seemed to like watching people stuffer.

"I have another idea!" Eiji said brightly, "My siblings used to do this all the time in high school. All you have to do is call her out by the locker room after school, Kondo."

My stomach clenched. Couldn't they just let it go? They were being nearly as stubborn as she was!

"I can get all the supplies together after lunch," Eiji declared. "This is what we're going to do . . ."

* * *

Ayame

I was seriously worried that the tennis club was planning something weird. That trick during lunch was too suspicious. Of course Inui figured out that I had put the dye in the shampoo, Kondo's questioning made that obvious. And Inui was a genius, so even if Kondo didn't spill, which I found unlikely, he would have known on his own.

I was staying after school today, too, for library duty. Really, I spent so much time here after school, it wasn't any different than if I were in a club, even though I wasn't right now.

_Beep . . . beep . . . beep . . ._ came the ring of my phone, conspicuous in the library. I set down the books I was carrying and hurried out into the empty hallway as the librarian glared at me.

"Moshi-moshi?" I sighed, picking it up.

"Ayame?" came the voice from the phone, "Its Kendo. You're still at school, right?"

"Yes, why?" I asked. I was trying to keep from being suspicious, but Kendo was too respectful of his tennis friends, and I wasn't entirely sure that he wasn't part of the large conspiracy I was sure the world was building against me.

Yeah, I know I'm paranoid. Get over it.

"You left something at lunch," he told me, "It looks like a paper for English, and I thought you might want it back."

"Really?" Hn. I didn't remember dropping my English homework, but then, if I'd noticed I dropped it, I would have picked it up. "Alright, do you have it?"

"Yeah," he said, "I have to run some errands, so I won't be going home with you, though, so do you mind running by the club room in about ten minutes? We'll be done, and I can give it to you then."

"Sure," I agreed. Kondo would be seriously ticked off if I questioned him and he really was trying to return my homework, so I didn't have much choice.

I regret that decision, now.

After finishing my work at the library, I hurried around the corner of the locker room.

And was promptly soaked. Normally, this was not a problem. I loved water. I was prone to stand in the rain and playing in the lawn sprinklers, even though I was in high school. But this time, it proved to be a major problem for three reasons:

One, I was carrying my school bag. I was sprayed so thoroughly that the water penetrated the thick cloth of the bag and made the edges of all my textbooks and made all of my textbooks and assignments wet. Definitely not funny.

Two, it was hot today so I wasn't wearing the weird sailor-jacket part of the uniform. This meant that the water went straight through the plain white shirt I was wearing and made it basically see through. Cliqued, I admit, like something out of an anime, but still definitely a problem.

The third and final problem was created on purpose by the tennis club. While Momo doused me with the hose, Eiji covered me in glitter.

Now, for all you non-crafty people out there, wet glitter sticks to _everything. _And it doesn't come off for a week. You do the math.

"Dammit!" I shouted. My first reaction was to clobber the person closest to me, which was Eiji. And thus, he experienced being judo-thrown by a little girl for a second time.

I grabbed Kondo's regular jacket from where he was holding it a few feet away, looking at me pityingly. Despite the heat, I put it on and zipped it up, thus fixing the second problem, and probably also coating it with glitter, but at this point, I didn't care.

"Give them a chance, huh?" I asked Kondo bitterly, "Not too likely anymore. And don't think you're going to be spared, either."

"I was afraid of that," he admitted.

"Not afraid enough," I said, shaking some of the excess glitter in my hair his direction and took off away from the school.

* * *

A/N: I think . . . that the regulars are OOC and that this is getting to be less of a 'humor' story. It's harder to make Kondo humorous, because he's not so cynical. Since I'm not very funny, it might be better to ignore the genre and just think of this as a General fic. I've been updating fairly quickly because I already had some of this prepared, but depending on how long it takes me to pull together each chapter, it might spread out a bit more. Once again, please review and constructive criticism is welcome, but no flaming for the sake of flaming.


	5. Chapter 4: Airsoft Wars

Disclaimer: See previous chapters.

**This Means War**

Ayame

When I got home, I put my uniform in the dryer and spread my things out by the window to dry in the sun, before showering for a long time in a desperate attempt to get the glitter off. Lucky for me, my parents weren't in the house when I got home, so there weren't any awkward questions at first.

Despite my efforts, there was no way the glitter was coming off. That meant that the entire tennis team was going to pay, and I already had an idea how to do it. My house is directly connected to the hospital my parents own and operate, so I went through the side door and into the antiseptic smelling halls. I used to hate that smell, but after living with it for so many years, I barely even noticed any more. Kondo once told me that even outside of the hospital I smell that way, like a doctor, like the smell has made its way into my skin and is never going to leave.

There was one thing that was good about living right next to the hospital, though, and that was that I had access to a very thin, very strong and nearly invisible kind of tape used to cover stitches. "I need it for a school project," I explained to one of the nurses. They all knew me, so borrowing supplies from the hospital wasn't a big deal. You'd be surprised how many simple medical tools work excellently for other projects; it wasn't the first time I'd taken something for school.

The next thing I needed was a small knife. I located one about the right size in the kitchen, and added it to my tape.

After that, I snuck into my brother's room, which had pretty much been left the same since he had gone to college, because my parents were always too busy to clean it out. A little rummaging through the dusty drawers, and I found his store of Airsoft pellets, as well as the funny little mechanism that you could pour the pellets into and it would feed them quickly into the little cartridges. I took them both, and then set my little collection of supplies on my desk. I took out my phone, which luckily hadn't sustained too much water damage, and called Kazuko.

"Kazu?" I said to her, my voice dripping sweetly, "I need your help again."

"I suppose," she said, "But try not to screw up this time. Not that a pink-haired Inui wasn't funny; it just wouldn't look good for us to mess up twice."

"Don't worry. I've got another plan, and there's much less room for error this time," I reassured her. "Not as funny, but it'll certainly irritate Tezuka . . . and my other targets." Today was Friday, which left me the entire weekend to execute my plan.

"Please meet me in the front gate of the school after club activities, so about 4:00 tomorrow. Make sure your parents are willing to not question your whereabouts for a few hours," I explained, all business.

"This sounds interesting," she said, her voice dripping with mischievous innocence, "Alright, senpai, we'll try it. Do I need to bring anything?"

I considered for a moment. "Bring your lock picks," I told her, "They'll make it a lot easier."

Kazuko chuckled. She loved picking locks; she thought it was a fun challenge. "Alright, then. Just know that if we're breaking into an important building we're graduating from pranks to felony."

"I know," I sighed, "We're not going into anything too high tech, don't worry. Nobody will know, or care."

I spent the rest of the night alone, like usual. Since my parents had their hands full with the hospital, I barely ever saw them except in passing. I had made friends with a little 8-year-old with leukemia that had come a while ago, and had been hanging out with her, but last night she'd died, which was why I wasn't eating.

It's unbelievable what you can get used to if it hits you often enough. If you had told me in the first year of middle school that in five years, I would be used to my friends dying overnight, I would have kicked you and called you stupid.

I would have been wrong.

* * *

"Good afternoon, senpai!" Kazuko said, coming over to me.

I smiled at her. "Yeah. Let's do this!" I was pretty excited, because even though the plan didn't have the comic value of the pink hair, it would definately irritate Tezuka, which was something I couldn't wait to see.

"So, what's the plan?" she asked, looking at the backpack I was carrying.

"We're going to sabotage the tennis balls," I told her matter-of-factly.

She shrugged, "That oughta make them pretty mad . . . and look pretty stupid, if we do it right."

"That's the hope," I said, "I'll explain more once we break into the storage room in the back of the school."

Kazuko followed me to the shed where the school stored sports equipment. She examined the lock on the door.

"Can you get it?" I asked.

"Of course," she said with a smile, "They probably haven't changed this lock since the school was built. I could get through with a bobby pin."

She then proceeded to take out a small metal tool that she used to move tumblers, and within a matter of minutes, had opened the door on the shed. "Taa-daa!" she said.

I clapped my hands once, "Alright! There's more, though." We entered the old building and pulled down the baskets of tennis balls the club used for practice. I took one ball and held it out for Kazuko to see. I grabbed a knife from my backpack, and made a small cut through the surface of the tennis ball.

It is a fact that tennis balls have a skin about three fourths of an inch thick, and are from that point on, completely hollow. By slightly squeezing the cut tennis ball, I was able to use the Airsoft loader to fill the ball about a third of the way with the small pellets. Using a small bit of the invisible tape, I sealed the cut so that you could only see the scar if you were looking for it. I then stood and dropped the ball on the ground. Its bounce was low and at an awkward angle.

"I'd like to see them practice with this," I grinned.

"It would be difficult," Kazuko said, a wicked smirk forming on her face.

"I don't want to make the baskets too heavy, though," I warned, "So only do this to about one out of every three balls. It'll be more confusing that way, anyway."

Kazuko nodded. I gave her some of the spare supplies I'd brought along as a last minute thought this morning, and we both set to work. It took about two and a half hours to use up all of the Airsoft ammunition I'd brought along, but by the time we were finished, I was pleased with a job well done.

We replaced the tennis baskets, which we had been careful to make sure still weighed a reasonably normal amount, and then left and locked up the shed. Kazuko grinned at me.

"You up for ice cream?" she said, as though we hadn't just done something pretty evil and partially illegal.

* * *

I signed up for extra library duty on Monday, so I could see the effects of my experiment. I watched carefully, from a distance, as the boys started to practice. Thankfully, Inui hadn't brought custom color balls that day, and it was practice matches, after Tezuka's many laps. Ryoma was the first one to pick up one of the tampered balls. He was playing a practice match against Eiji. I sort of wanted to see him try one of his famous 'Twist Serves' with our special tennis ball, but since neither he nor Eiji were going all out, I didn't get to right away.

It certainly didn't work properly, though. Echizen served the ball, and it fell with an awkward '_thunk_' on the ground and bounced sideways, out of the court.

The freshman who was the referee, a short kid with mushroom-top black hair blinked, and stuttered, "F – Fault."

Echizen looked confused. Then he abrupty looked angry. He glared and Inui, and I realized that he thought that this was some kind of secret training that he had set up for them, but not told them about. He pulled another ball out of his pocket and served, this time trying to adjust for the Airsoft pellets he didn't know weren't there.

Unfortunately for Echizen, the ball he had corrected for was perfectly normal, and didn't land in the right area.

"Double fault," mushroom-top said, "0-15, Eiji." Mushroom looked absolutely mystified, and Echizen looked teed. Neither of them had any idea what was going on.

I giggled.

The practice proceeded according to my plan. The level of the tennis played that day looked like it was an elementary school PE class. They looked absolutely ridiculous, trying to adjust for the pellets. The expressions on their faces should have been cast in bronze as they watched their many years of experience suddenly seem pointless, because nothing was consistant. Momo faired the best, because his power play wasn't affected as much by the bounce of the ball. Ryoma, Fuji, Oishi, and Tezuka did horribly because their special spins and techniques were rendered utterly useless by the randomly changing handicap on the balls. Tezuka nearly had steam coming out of his ears by the time the practice was over, because of all the problems caused by the modified balls.

The best part was when Horio, an annoying kid who joined in middle school, managed to take three normal balls, and didn't correct for any of them, thus winning against Kaidoh. Horio ran for his life, afterwards, of course, but later I heard stories of a miracle freshman, which lead me to believe Horio had told a slightly altered version of the story to his classmates later. I was proud of how much I had caused the tennis team to lose face, even if it was only for today.

Overall, the mission was a huge success. I hardly could have asked for better results.

Kondo

Something weird was happening at practice today. There was something wrong with some of the tennis balls. At first, I had no idea what was going on, neither did anybody else. Then I saw somebody sulking in the shadows by the locker room.

Ayame. Somehow, she was behind this. That didn't take a genius to figure out.

"Tezuka!" I called, "Stop practice."

I went over to him and elaborated. "Somebody tampered with the balls." I held up one of the ones that hadn't been working properly and shook it. There was a distinct rattle. "Hear it? There's something inside."

"I hear it," he said shortly. No wonder, this was enough to make even him lose his cool.

I checked over the tennis ball carefully until I found what I was looking for. A hairline crack, pressed together and sealed, and nearly invisible. "Here's the cut. Somebody put something into some of the tennis balls that destroys their bounce."

Tezuka scowled. Not just a little downturn of the corners of his mouth, a real scowl. I couldn't believe it, though he was irritated for a good reason. This was going to be nearly impossible to fix, because even if we were able to take the beads or whatever out of the tennis ball, they would still be cut and wouldn't work properly if they ever landed on the cut. Which basically meant that we had to check through all of the tennis balls and replace the ones that had something wrong with them.

Inui appeared behind us. "Tezuka is angry about something," he said, and I jumped. One thing I'm never going to understand is Inui's ability to sneak up out of nowhere.

"His expression has tightened 76% since you started talking to him," he informed me. "Perhaps, you know why this practice is wrong?"

I showed Inui what I'd found one the tennis balls.

"It is vengeance for the glitter;" Inui said flatly, "Ayame's target has expanded. She no longer only holds a grudge against the captian, but the entire team."

"Is that so?" Fuji said, "Then we'll have to retaliate, now won't we?"

"No," I said, "No we won't."

But since I'm the voice of reason, who's going to bother listening to me?

* * *

A/N: So, I'm having trouble writing anything funny, but I'll just leave it how it is. Please review if you have critiques, suggestions, or comments. I think the chapters are getting shorter . . . I must work harder!


	6. Chapter 5: Jukebox

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Nada. Zilch. Nil.

This was edited to keep spelling consistant. Full explenation at the bottom.

**This Means War**

Kondo

After today's awful practice, I was hoping that the entire thing would be over. And, for one blessed day, I thought it really was. But that would just be too peaceful, now wouldn't it?

The regulars decided to consult Inui and me for ideas this time, since it's easier to prank someone you know. I was reluctant to release any information, but Inui, still irritated from Ayame's stunt with the hair dye, freely released his data.

"Ayame doesn't like loud noises and it neat almost to the point of obsessive compulsive. She is an only child, and doesn't form close bonds with many people. Her friends are a collection of people from the second and third year that she enjoys being around, but they almost never visit her outside school, or vice-versa. Kondo is the only person I have found that has actually visited her house," Inui read from his green notebook of terror.

"Really?" Eiji said, "You sure you're not dating her, Taro-chan?"

"Of course not," I protested, "Her parents are always too busy to pay attention to her, so she stays at the dojo that we attend all the time. I do too, because my parents work. We've trained together for years, Ayame is like a sister."

Eiji and Momo just laughed at me, and Inui flipped through his notebook and started writing furiously. I decided that any further rejection would be a waste of time. "What are you guys planning to do, anyway?" I said, not completely sure that I actually wanted the answer.

Regardless of what I wanted, they were already scheming away. "People who are obsessively organized are very simple to annoy," Inui said, "Because a collection of small things can make them extremely irate."

Fuji tipped his head to one side, thoughtfully. "You mentioned loud noises, earlier, Inui. Does that mean she has sensitive ears?"

"I believe that is the case," Inui responded.

"Then, because I sit behind her, do you think she'd hear me if I whispered in class, even if no one else could?" Fuji continued, clearly scheming.

"There is a eighty seven percent chance that reasoning would be correct," theorized Inui, "What kind of noises do you have in mind?"

"Oh, it doesn't really matter," Fuji said, "Just as long as it's obnoxious and repetitive. It's like Chinese water torture," he said added brightly.

I shuddered, that was going to be more than enough to irritate poor Ayama. "Saa . . . we won't know how well it works till we give it a try," Fuji smiled, "So I'll start as soon as I get a chance, alright?"

This was met by a general chorus of grunts and murmurs and giggles of approval. I just let out a sigh of resegnation, and told Fuji, "Try not to let her kill you."

Fuji, being Fuji, just stood there and smiled.

* * *

Ayame

I was pretty happy with the results of the tennis ball experiment, but I had had so much fun these past few weeks that I wasn't done just yet. Plus, I still hadn't been able to make Tezuka lose face, because my last prank had been more on the general tennis team. As I mused over what I was going to do next, sitting in science class, I heard a small meow.

I immediately looked around – out the window, around the classroom – and found nothing. It seemed like nobody else had even heard, so I looked back at the lab report I was writing.

"Grrrr…" I heard softly, making me flinch. I firmly rubbed my ears, glanced around again, and went back to the class work, hoping what ever it was would just go away.

But it didn't. I heard a repeating pattern of taps, scratches, hisses, and a variety of animal noises for the rest of class. After the pattern had finished for the sixth time, I had decided that everybody else was deaf, or I was hearing things. And since you didn't have to be Inui to know that the chances of about thirty five people simultaneously losing their hearing were incredibly small, it was starting to look like the latter.

I groaned softly and set my head on my desk. "Meow . . . ." it looked like I was getting a little stressed out. Midterms were coming up, so I had been participating in cram school, which is definitely not good for your brain. Plus, after word of my stunts with the tennis team had reached the ears of the female population of Seigaku, I'd generally been exiled by all the fan girls. This is about ninety percent of all the girls in school, and a few males with severe inferiority complexes. So the majority of the school had made it their personal goal to make my life as difficult as possible.

"Grrrr…."the pattern continued. _I must really be losing my mind, _I mused sadly. I suppose I should have known that it was only a matter of time.

"Hiss . . ." came the next sound. I felt like my head was going to explode. Tap, tap. Baa. Scratch of a pencil, snort of a pig. Chirp. Tap, tap. Meow. Growl. Hiss. Tap, tap, baa, scratch, snort, chirp, tap, tap. And over again. And again. And again. Scratch, snort, chirp, tap, tap.

"Suzuki-san? Suzuki-san!" I realized the teacher was shouting at me. I answered with the first word that came to mind.

"Meow?" I told the teacher. It took me a second to realize what I'd said, before saying, "I mean, yes?"

The class started snickering, I flushed. The teacher gave me a look indicating she thought that I was losing my mind. "Are you feeling all right?" she said at last, "You didn't look like you were healthy just now."

I silently thanked Kami-sama for giving me such a perfect excuse to leave, lie down, and make a feeble attempt to regain my sanity. "Actually, I have a horrible headache and I feel nauseous," I said, the last part being a lie to help me get out of class, "Can I go to the nurse?"

"Go," she said, handing me a pass, "Feel better soon." I took the proffered slip of paper, gathered my books, and hurried out of class, down the stairs and through the hall to the infirmary. The nurse was gone when I reached the office, so I just got a drink and sat down, setting my head against the wall.

I completely expected an annoying pattern of sounds to start echoing through my mind, but to my surprise, nothing happened. Definitely relieving. I kept my mind on other subjects, until I was fairly certian that I wasn't quite as insane as I thought I might be.

I spent the rest of the period trying to figure out why I'd been hearing animal noises in science.

* * *

By the end of the day, I'd decided that it had been a momentary thing, organized either by the tennis club, or the collection of people that hated me. And I was mad. I called up Kazuko, who met me at a café a ways from the school. I was so caught up in my own thoughts that I failed to notice Eiji, Momo, and Ryoma following us from a distance. As Kazuko and I settled at our own table, they entered the restaurant, and went straight to the jukebox.

I had decided to let that action, seemingly unrelated to me, slide, until I heard the song they'd chosen. It was none other than '_Barbie Girl_', which I think is probably the most annoying song on the face of the planet, and I didn't even know why it was on that stupid machine. Because of my deep and utter hatred for that song, I was naturally glad when it was over.

Boy was I wrong.

'Barbie Girl' restarted, much to my irritation and to the mystification of everyone in the café. As soon as it was over that time, it restarted again.

It played for a fourth time, and the man sitting next to us, a big guy with a red face that looked like he was constantly on the edge of having a heart attack, shattered the water glass he was clenching in his pudgy fingers. I would have laughed, if I wasn't just as mad as he was.

The song came to an end, and silence reigned in the cafe for a moment. Everyone listened, praying it was over, but then _'I'm a Barbie girl . . .'._

I groaned. Kazuko slammed one hand on the table and escaped, leaving money for her food on the table, and I lost my only way out, since one of us needed to stay and pay.

I tried to cover my ears, but it wasn't any use. Customers started to leave the shop, grumbling. The red faced man was clenching his sausage fingers on the edge of the table, and I was pretty sure he was going to break it.

Four '_Barbie Girl_'s later, a different song came on. You think it's impossible for a completely happy, major-key song to move people to tears? Not true. I was not the only one in the shop to be relieved by the end of the '_Barbie Girl_.'

The sigh of relief came from everyone in the shop as a completely different song came on. I settled down again, massaging my temples and plotting against my torturers.

And the oh-so-familiar opening bars of '_Barbie Girl' _started playing again. My brows knitted together, and gave up faith that it would end. I threw away the remains of my drink, caught the waitress and paid as another round started. Eiji and Momo were outside, laughing so hard I thought they were going to puke. Ryoma was smirking in that condescending way he has, and I once again wondered how anybody could like them. I shot them a glare, and turned and walked away. It took every ounce of my self control not to try to smash their smug faces in.

_There will be vengeance, just you wait,_ I promised them internally as I stormed away.

I went a few blocks away; to a park I used to go to when I was a child to plot my revenge. As I internally ran through a variety of situations I could arrange, when I heard the ever-too-familiar thunk of someone hitting a tennis ball against a wall. When I looked over, I saw a girl with short brown-orange hair and big blue eyes. She looked a little younger than me. My eye started twitching in irritation at the sound of the tennis ball.

The girl evidently saw me glaring at her as though she were the cause for all the world's woes, and came over to me.

"Do you have a problem?" she said. She seemed like she couldn't decide whether to be angry at me because I seemed to naturally hate her or be sympathetic, because there was obviously something wrong with me.

I sighed. Great, another person I was clearly irritating. "It's nothing. Sorry if I was bothering you."

She looked at me, deciding how to respond. After considering my brooding coutenance, she grinned and said, "Boy troubles?"

I snorted. "Not the way you're thinking." She sat on the bench next to me.

"How, then?" she asked.

I looked at her like she was crazy. I couldn't help it! After all, who goes around trying to understand the problems of complete strangers? "Who are you?" I said, dodging her question.

"Tachibana An," she said, "And isn't it polite to give your name before asking someone else's?"

"Suzuki Ayame," I told her, "I go to Seishun High."

"Fudomine," she said, "I go to Fudomine. So why were you angry with me?" Tachibana seemed to have decided that I was just having a bad day, and was not some kind of psychotic hater.

"You were playing tennis," I told her.

She stared at me. "Is that a problem somehow?"

I grimaced slightly. "Well, I seem to have irritated a few tennis boys . . ." I began, and told An all about it.

She laughed at me. "Wow, you really don't get along, do you?" she grinned at me.

My brows furrowed a little bit. She spoke as though she were familiar with everybody in the situation, not just me. "Do you know the regulars, some how?"

"My brother is a tennis player, so I've encountered them before . . ." she grinned, "I'm also friends with Momoshiro!"

I tried to imagine being friends with Momo for a moment, then looked at An in utter amazement. "And you haven't been driven insane yet? But he so . . ." To tell the truth, I wasn't entirely sure how to finish that sentence. He was just _Momo._ He ate twice his weight and said weird things like 'don' and like Eiji, made up relationships where they didn't exist. I, for one, was fairly certain it would take great mental stability to be friends with Momo.

"He's not so bad," she said, "If you give him a chance."

"You're out of your mind," I informed her.

And she laughed at me again. I found myself smiling along with her, not because I was feeling any better about the tennis regulars, but because I had been lucky enough to meet such an interesting person.

Suddenly, a boy with dark red hair that covered one of his eyes ran up to us. "An-chan," he said, "Tachibana-san is looking for you, and you need to go back to school."

An stood, nodding at the boy. "Do you know what he wants?" she asked cheerfully.

"I think he wants you to pick up some things for the tennis club, I think," the boy said, "But he couldn't reach your phone."

After fishing through her pocket for a moment, An pulled out a mobile, it's screen dark. "Oops," she said, "Out of battery. I better go see him."

I watched her, trying to keep from glaring at the obvious tennis boy. "Good bye," I told her, leaning back on the bench.

An suddenly grinned at me, "You should come with and meet the Fudomine tennis club. They're nothing like your regulars, don't worry."

I personally doubted that her words were even remotely true, but if An really was going shopping there was something I wanted to pick up, so I stood, and grumbled, "I suppose."

And so, I was dragged about nine blocks away to the tennis courts of Fudomine High. I personally thought their regulars were creepy, since most of them seemed to have set up some kind of cult worship circulating around their captain. One guy with blue-black hair appeared to be almost constantly talking to himself, and one guy wearing a Kaidou style bandana who appeared to be bald.

An was sent by her brother to pick up grip tape, and more tennis balls. I followed her to the store, making occasional comments to assure An I was actually listening to her rapid-fire jabbering. We separated outside the store, and I went into the electronics store a few buildings down from the sports shop.

After a few minutes of looking, I found what I wanted: a small voice recorder. I bought it, and smiling to myself like an idiot, made my way home.

Kondo

I couldn't repress a snicker as Eiji and Momo told us animatedly all about the jukebox the day before. The reactions of not only Ayame and Kazuko, but of the general victims in the café sounded absolutely priceless.

"Then the owner came," Ryoma said, "And the senpais had to run for their lives." He was smirking. Eiji gave a guilty little laugh, and rubbed the back of his head casually.

I smiled. They didn't have the same animosity as the first had when they started tormenting poor Ayame, which was a good sign.

Tezuka came out of the locker room, and promptly ordered everyone to run forty laps, effectively ending the story-telling. I couldn't help but wonder if Ayame felt the same way as the regulars, something akin to friendship; or whether it was the same bitter distaste that had sparked the war. Knowing her, it was closer to the second one.

I couldn't help but worry that sometime, somebody was going to go too far – Ayame was a lot more fragile than she'd care to admit. But for the time being, I was content to stand by and watch, admittedly with growing amusement.

* * *

A/N: I struggled with this chapter, which is why it took awhile. I'm still not really sure I like it, but I'll post it anyway, since I don't have the tolerance to do much more with it right now. I'm working on longer chapters, but I'm still not able to get over 3000 words . . . I'm so close, though! Please review and help me get better at this. Also, I decided to take KonekoKallen's suggestion and I will be posting links to Photobucket pictures that sort of matched what I had in mind when I wrote these characters on my profile.

Edit: I feel stupid now. By mistake I changed the spelling of Ayame's name for this chapter, this is not an update but a correction: I sent through, corrected the spellings, and am now reposting. This probably looks dumb to people who are reading it awhile after I posted it, but rest assured that it was originally posted with an incorrect spelling.


	7. Chapter 6: Of Calculators and Volleyball

Disclaimer: Prince of Tennis does not belong to me!

**This Means War**

Ayame

In the purchasing of the voice recording, my plan was partially finished, but there was one other piece of electronics that I needed to get my hands on. I went to the office supply store the next day, after school, and purchased a very large and complicated scientific calculator, the kind most kids in my math class used. I would have used my own, except somewhere along the line I'd covered it in stickers, and that would get in the way of my plan. I went home, and carefully started to pull apart the electronics, until it appeared as though a robot had come into my room and thrown up on my desk.

I jumped when I heard the click of the door to my room open behind me, making the wires fall out of my hands. "Gah!" I yelled, looking to see who it was, even though I already knew.

It was my mother, the only person in the world who would just walk into my room. To be honest, not very many people even went into my room, and dad, Kondo, and the house keeper always knocked, especially if I had the door close. I looked up at her. "Do you need something?"

"Am I not allowed to check on my own daughter?" she said, all innocence. I set down the electronics I was adjusting and spun my desk chair around to face her, where she leaned in the doorway.

My mom is pretty, with shiny black hair and warm eyes, but I think she looks tired and sad all the time. That's what you get for being an emergency children's doctor, I guess. It ages you fast, to see so many young people die. Both she and dad have the same look in their eyes, like they're always feeling infinitely guilty for the children that they couldn't save. I know I should be sympathetic, but I'm a teenager, and I feel the same way about them as every other teenager does. A refusal to respect their problems, or perhaps a very self-center view of their relationship with the world. And I know it, too, but I'm certainly not likely to do anything about it.

"It's allowed," I said, "Just unusual. Are you sure there's absolutely no ulterior motive here?"

My mom fake gasped, and said "I'm so insulted you would think so. What have I done to have such a suspicious daughter?"

I held up my hands in surrender. "Alright, sorry." I looked at her. She seemed uncomfortable. "Is something wrong?"

"Actually, I was wondering if you could . . ." she began, but I cut her off.

"I knew it! I was right. And you were complaining I was suspicious," I sighed, saying the last sentence in an overly chiding voice. Really, it was just like her to reject something so completely then do just that ten seconds later.

Mom gave me a dirty look, then said "Anyway, I just wanted to know if you could keep one of the patients company. She's three years younger than you are, but I think you would get along well. You could help her with her homework."

I sighed, even though I didn't really mind. Keeping patients company wasn't as bad as people would expect, once you got used to it. But there was one thing I had to know before I went anywhere near the mystery girl's hospital room. "What's wrong with her?" I asked.

"Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy," my mother answered, "She can walk with crutches, and doesn't have any mental symptoms, but she's naturally very weak and she is easily tired."

"Hn," I nodded. I picked up some of my physics homework that I should have been doing anyway, and said, "I'll go see her. What room?"

My mom smiled at me, "Thanks, sweetie. I knew you'd help, even if you complain. Room number three-forty." Getting to know the patients was awkward, so I took my time walking through the house and to the small hallway that lead to the second floor of the hospital. Taking the stairs to the third floor, I passed and greeted the doctors, nurses and specialists that I knew. I rapped on the door of the room labeled 340 and opened it a crack.

"Can I come in?" I asked, and I heard a soft sort of voice answer, "Yes. Can I help you?" I opened the door to see a girl with slightly curly dark brown hair. It was a little disarrayed, like she couldn't be bothered to take care of it. She had big green eyes, and a sort of soft, kind looking face. She looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn't place where I'd seen her face before.

"Um . . . I'm the daughter of the doctors that own this place . . ." I started. This was always the hardest. "I don't have any siblings, so I sometimes like to stay with the patients who are going to be with us for awhile, and my mom thought I might get along with you, so . . ." The trick was to make it sound like it had been arranged entirely for me. Because most patients did not appreciate being reminded of the situation they were in. Sometimes they got mad at me, grumbling about this and that. We're not supposed to treat the patients differently, but the truth is, they need to be treated differently, or nothing's ever going to work at all. What you had to do was treat them differently respectfully.

The girl's eyes lit up. "Would you? My brother and parents are always so busy, and it's hard to go out for very long, so it gets lonely." I couldn't help smiling at her. She was one of the nice types that recognized we were trying to help and not be rude. People like her are usually kind and generous to a fault, but they were great friends.

"Of course," I told her, "My name is Ayame. My mom didn't tell me yours . . ."

"Oishi," she told me, "Oishi Sachiko." I dropped my books in surprise. That explained where I'd seen her face before. Now that I thought about it, they really looked alike. "Ah . . . is something wrong?" she looked at me innocently.

I set a smile onto my face, the mask was Fuji-worthy. "No, nothing. By the way . . . your brother . . . . his name wouldn't be Shuichiro, would it?" I stooped to get my books, hiding my face. It was just my luck to run into someone who was related to Eiji's best friend. She seemed nice enough, though. Maybe she would even help me.

"Do you know him?" she said, confirming what I already suspected.

"Aa . . . Loosely," I smiled, "I know his friends, from Seishun . . ." She looked a me, obviously startled by my sudden change in attitude. "We don't really get along."

"I see," she said, thoughtfully, "Now that you mention, I think Eiji said something about a girl who didn't like the tennis team, when he came over. Was that you?"

"Probably," I smiled. "I'm quite notorious now, aren't I?" I was pretty sure that I was going to seem a little hardcore to someone as docile as Sachiko, but then she started to snicker.

"Some of the stuff you did sounded pretty smart. I thought the thing with the hair dye was really funny," she said, "What are you going to do next?" I wish I could've seen my own face at that moment. I bet it was absolutely hilarious. Who would have thought that Oishi's sister of all people would have her own little evil streak? I set my books down on the table in her room and said, "One moment. I'll show you."

I hurried back to my room, picked up the calculator, which I had left open, and the recording module I had salvaged from the device I'd gotten yesterday. I brought it into Sachiko's room, and showed her what I'd done so far.

"I'm recording various noises into this little microphone here," I said, showing her, "Then, if I attach this wire to the back of the calculator, I can make it say anything I want when someone presses the equals sign, or any other button for that matter." Sachiko looked like she didn't really get how I was doing it, but she caught the general idea.

"I see," she said, "So, who's the lucky one to be on the receiving end of this calculator?"

"Why, Tezuka of course," I smiled, "It wouldn't look half so ridiculous if someone like Eiji had it, would it?"

"But how are you going to get him to take it?" she said. I shrugged, I had already thought of that. It wouldn't be that hard with some of the other . . . skills . . . that Kazuko had taught me.

"I'm going to steal his," I said bluntly, "And replace it. He leaves his backpack outside in PE everyday; it shouldn't be that hard to get into." I already knew that he was horribly organized, like me, so I would be able to find and replace it fairly quickly.

"What if he knows it's different?" she said, "Won't he be angry that you stole his calculator?" I laughed; she was worrying if he was going to get angry.

"He's going to be irritated no matter what," I said, "So it doesn't really make a difference. Besides, everyone in class has the same calculator, so this is the right kind. I don't think he has his name on his, either." Because that was the kind of personal touch Tezuka wouldn't include for most things. I spent the next few hours at Sachiko's side, carefully making attachments to my special present for Tezuka, and finishing my horrible physics homework. Interestingly enough, even though Sachiko was only 14, she was much better at it than I was. Kind of pathetic, on my part anyway.

* * *

"I . . . hate . . . running!" I complained to one of my friends in my PE class. Don't get me wrong, I'm not completely out of shape. I have to be relatively strong to be in karate. But my endurance is so terrible I don't like to think about it – the best thing to do in karate is finish the match quickly, and then you don't need endurance. So every time we have the six mile cross-country at school, I feel like I'm going to throw up, which actually puts me in a better position than some people, who can't finish it or really do get sick. And then there are people like perfect Tezuka, who finish the whole thing before every one else without breaking a sweat. Lucky for me, that meant that Tezuka had been sent off to occupy himself with training while everybody else finished, and his backpack sat abandoned with everybody else's, outside the locker rooms.

I snuck over to the bag and opened it, immediately identifying the bag that would hold things like glue sticks and calculators. I opened it, and to my pleasure, found a calculator identical to the one I'd changed. I'm no Inui, but it seems I can predict some things. Probably helps that I choose a very predictable person.

I quickly swapped the calculators, stuffing his original one into my backpack. PE was nearly over, and everything was going perfectly, until sensei called us all together and made an announcement.

"There was a gas leak in the science room, so the second floor is being evacuated for the day. This means that a few more students will be joining us who had classes there," she was interrupted by general cheering from people who had friends that might be coming, "and you will all have a second PE period, for today only." And she was interrupted again by a collective group of moans, from people exhausted from the previous PE lesson and probably felt like shooting themselves at the thought of another one. I _may_ have been one of them.

Slowly a group of students who should have been having class on the second story filtered outside, gossiping, chattering, and conspiring about what might have happened. After all, it isn't very often that something like this happens, so naturally people would spread rumors about it, saying it was a bomb scare or something equally ridiculous.

I wasn't happy about the extra PE lesson, and then the teacher announced something that ruined my day completely. "We'll be playing volleyball," she announced, "And I will be choosing teams." To normal people, that doesn't exactly sound like Armageddon, but I'm not a good team player. The fact that I don't get along with the regulars, who are some of the most generally liked people in school, should speak for itself on that. The teacher started reading off names for teams, which were made up of six people. My team was made up of me (obviously), a boy named Akira who came from the deserted second floor, a girl named Megumi who was one of the 'kya, kya' fan girls, her friend Haruko, a second year that had come from the second floor that I didn't know, and, in some stupid coincidence because our last names are close together in the alphabet, Tezuka. As far as I could tell, the boy I didn't know and Tezuka were going to be the only ones that could actually play, because Akira had asthma. It's a big thing at our school to beat Tezuka at anything, so there were sure to be some people willing to try for that, and because we had to be a team, they also got the honor of trying to work around the dead weight.

Why couldn't I play, you ask? First of all, as previously mentioned, I was never a good team player. Second, I could barely stand being with in a ten foot radius of Tezuka. And finally, I cannot play volleyball to save my life. I don't know why, but every time I try (which I have, at a variety of picnics and other social gatherings) I manage to inflict a variety of injuries on both myself and the people around me.

In our first game, Tezuka served first. Lucky for us, the other team was only able to return it once, so we got quite a few points. Until the serve changed, that is. I stood to one side, and tried to stay out of the way as we lost all the points we'd won. Then the gym teacher came over.

"Come on, Suzuki!" he said, "I know you're strong, so play!" I gulped, and stepped out onto the court. PE was one of the few classes I wasn't on the bad side of the teacher, so I had to do what he said. The next time the ball had been hit towards me, I attempted to knock it back, awkwardly hitting it off my wrists. It flew into the air and caught on the net, bouncing back to our side. The gym teacher just gave me a withering look, and went off to make sure everybody else was playing.

The next time the ball came my direction, I managed to hit it over the net, but I also knocked the wind out of one of the players of the other team. By the third game, I had hit Akira's back, tripped Haruko, and some how managed to smack the ball into the boy I didn't know and hurt my own wrist in one stroke. How's that for talent?

It wasn't until the fourth game, though, that I finally got what I wanted. I got roped into serving, and when I finally managed to hit the ball instead of tossing it and dropping it to the ground, I hit it hard. It flew through the air – and abruptly stopped, slamming the back of Tezuka's head. His neck snapped forward and his glasses fell, and for a split second I was actually worried, that I'd hurt him.

That only lasted for a second, though. It quickly became apparent that no serious damage had been done, and I worked to repress my laughter as Megumi and Haruko freaked out about the welfare of their precious Tezuka-sama. "Are you – okay?" I said, my voice breaking as I tried to keep it from being completely obvious I was thrilled with his predicament.

"Aa," he said, feeling on the ground for his glasses. Seeing Tezuka kneeling on the ground was more than I could ever hope for. Best of all, I managed to last the entire lesson without inflicting or receiving any injuries larger than scratches or bruises. Pretty good day, as thing go.

* * *

The next week or so was really quiet. The district tournament was coming up, so the regulars were all too busy for anything else. And, most unfortunately for me, the teacher didn't allow us to use calculators in math for quite sometime. I spent my time practicing karate, getting forced to help Kondo practice tennis (usually by hitting the balls at him, because I don't have the hand-eye coordination for anything else), and spending time with Sachiko. Oishi's younger sister turns out to be some kind of math genius; I've probably learned more from her than I have all year.

However, my calculator did get its moment to shine. We were factoring with routes, and to help speed the process up, we were instructed to use calculators. As I tried to follow a formula I didn't understand in the least, I abruptly heard a shrill screech that lasted for less than a second. I repressed my knowing snicker, and looked around with everybody else. The crease between Tezuka's eyebrows had gotten deeper, but I don't think he realized it was the calculator that had made the disembodied shriek. The teacher looked in the hall, and upon having decided that no one was really being murdered, every one went back to their math.

It was only a minute later that the calculator went off again, this time it was a squeal not unlike that an angry pig would make. Tezuka, being the bright guy that he is, was already starting to see the connection, which was proved when he hit the equals button immediately afterword, allowing for an eerie ringing to resound through the room. Unfortunately for Tezuka, and much to my pleasure, one of the fan girls next to him was also starting to see the pattern.

"Um . . . Tezuka-san?" she said, "I think that calculator . . ."

"Aa," he said with a concise nod. Meanwhile, the other students were taking random guesses at what was causing the clamor. I heard something about a ghost, something about a cat, and something about a raccoon. But no one else had realized that it was Tezuka's calculator. Yet.

The calculator made noises two more times (both in Tezuka's attempt to make it shut off) before the people in Tezuka's vicinity had figured out where the sound was coming from. Then came the moment I had been waiting for. A spread of giggles made it's way around the room, as everybody learned what was going on. I covered my smile with a notebook, in order to avoid looking too responsible.

Tezuka looked at his desk, his expression set in stone. One of the guys next to me muttered to the person next to him, "Can you imagine? Tezuka, with something like that! Who managed to get him to use it, do you think?" I could resist an evil giggle listening to them, and the two boys looked at me, enlightenment in their eyes. They both simultaneously scooted a couple of inches away from my desk. The teacher came over, and Tezuka handed the calculator to him, silently demonstrating its problem, triggering another wave of laughter as the sound of a cow spread through the room.

I could feel the eyes on my back for the rest of class. It didn't take a genius to figure out who had done it – but that day I did gain some recognition as the genius who was able to trick Tezuka Kunimitsu. The random digs because people were upset that I was tormenting their precious regulars stopped that day, so even though it didn't last long, it didn't go to waste.

* * *

A/N: Interesting fact here: the calculator hack is entirely possible, if you know what you're looking for. My computer's been breaking lately, so it could be awhile before I update again, sorry. Please review and help me get better!


	8. Chapter 7: Peanut Allergy

Disclaimer: I've said it before, I'll say it again: not mine!

**This Means War**

Kondo

After Ayame's calculator trick, she seemed to settle down for a few weeks, which was good for the tennis team, because of the upcoming tournament. Our first games were against an unseated school, and we won with ease. But since Tezuka is our captain, we still had to train obscenely hard because we 'could not let our guard down.' Either way, the other team had nearly given up before the match had started, so it didn't exactly stretch our abilities.

Ayame's momentary calm was probably due largely to the fact that she was up to her eyes in training for karate – she was testing to become a second degree _Dan, _or second degree black belt, in a few days, and literally had about one hundred techniques, defensive maneuvers, and forms to memorize and practice. Between the regular's tennis and Ayame's karate, their exchange of pranks came to a halt as winter began to set in. It doesn't snow much here, but it does get overcast and thunderstorms become frequent.

Those precious weeks of silence were not to continue, however. After practice one day, as we were all recovering from Inui Juice Deluxe Version 5.4, Eiji got an evil glint in his eye. "Ne, ne," he said, "We need to prank Aya-chan again now!"

Knowing there was nothing I could do; I simply shook my head and watched, waiting to see what they came up with. It seemed, though, that they were running dry on ideas.

"We could steal her books," Momo suggested, and I stared at him.

"Nothing that will actually affect her grades and such," I insisted. I was amused enough now to sit by and watch for the most part, but you had to draw the line somewhere. "Can't you just try to give her Inui Juice again or something?"

They paused for a moment and considered. "That's not very original!" Eiji pouted.

Kaidou, having witnessed the entire story without saying anything, finally added his thoughts on the tennis team's war. "You're distracting yourselves, senpai. Why are you wasting time on an angry girl?" I looked at him, silently thanking the heavens that I not only had someone else on my side, but I had someone with a very intimidating face on my side.

"Baka viper," Momo said, "You're too boring. Go away." So of course Kaidou glared at him and was about to insult him back, but luckily, before they got into a yelling match, Inui intervened. Not in the typical way, but it worked, none the less.

"You have poor focus, Momoshiro-kun;" Inui said thoughtfully, "The precision of your tennis would improve if your attention span was more flexible." I looked at Inui, not entirely sure if I should be afraid or grateful.

"Everyone," Fuji said, "I couldn't help but over hear your conversation . . ."

"BS," I interrupted him "You've been nearly on the other side of the courts, you wouldn't have heard if you weren't listening." I instantly started questioning the intelligence of my statement, however, because I was on the receiving end of Fuji's patented death glare as he continued.

"Anyway, I happen to know that Inui has been concocting a new juice. Why not use Ayame as a . . . test subject, Inui?" Fuji smiled. I couldn't help but wonder why he knew Inui was making a new juice, but decided that he wasn't going to take kindly to any questioning, especially after my previous interruption.

Inui pulled out a plastic bottle. "I believe that this will be an excellent opportunity, especially since Ayame-san has taken to carrying around water to all of her classes."

Sipping idly at my own water, I couldn't help but imagine what Ayame's face would look like if she was put into contact with Inui Juice. She didn't have a particularly sensitive tongue, she ate liberal amounts of wasabi and ginger with out batting an eye, but nor was she completely immune, like Fuji. And she also had a deep-seated hatred of vegetables.

"We'll need a distraction," Fuji decided, "To get a hold of her water bottle."

Eiji grinned suddenly. "Leave it to me, nya!" he declared, "I know how to cause a little chaos. I'll - . ."

I abruptly slammed my hand over Eiji's mouth, pointing discreetly over his shoulder. Tezuka stood by us, watching us sternly. "I don't want to run anymore laps," I said by way of apology.

Inui abruptly appeared by my side, and I jumped. He smiled at me, "There a 57% chance that Tezuka has already heard us. There is an 89% chance that, even if he did hear us, he won't do anything." My eyebrows shot up, considering.

"The calculator," I nodded in agreement. I didn't really think Tezuka would be that petty, but nor was I clueless enough to argue with Inui. A smirk pulled itself across my face; I had to commend Ayame if she was really able to irritate our stoic captain. "Anyway, Eiji," I said turning to him, "What exactly are you planning to do?"

Eiji grinned broadly, looking as though he were about to start bouncing. "You'll see!" he announced, and wouldn't say another word about it. In retrospect, I think we definitely should have figured out what he was planning before we gave it the okay.

* * *

A day had passed, and there had been no opportunity to access Ayame's water bottle. I was poking at my lunch, udon, and doing some last minute cramming for my biology test when an ear splitting snapping sound pierced the air. Everyone looked up, some people hurrying towards the noise to see what it was, some backing away. There were a few more earth shattering bangs, and then everything went quiet.

I started to cough violently, choking on the broth I'd inhaled when I'd been startled from the noise. Eiji bounded over to my table as everyone else surged out of the lunchroom. Ayame, looking definitely panicky, moved away from the windowsill where she had perched, chewing onigiri, to see what the commotion was about.

"Well?" Eiji said laughingly, "Good enough, Taro-chan?" I drank from my water bottle and cleared my throat, making sure I could breathe before looking at him in utter disbelief.

"What did you do, Eiji?!" I demanded, "It sounded like a bomb went off. You didn't really hurt anything, did you?" He giggled, which wasn't a good sign. "Eiji?" I said insistently.

"Not a bomb," he grinned, "Fire crackers!" I stared at him, and slowly set my drink down on the table.

"Eiji. You were supposed to cause a distraction, no blow up the school," I said, then added, "You're going to get into huge trouble, you know."

"Don't worry," Eiji said brightly, "Nobody saw me, and I didn't actually vandalize anything. I sent them off the roof." He grinned at me, tipping his head to one side. Meanwhile, I was looking around to make sure nobody heard him – and that the fire alarm wasn't suddenly about to go off.

In the corner of my eye, I saw Inui walk over the windowsill where Ayame had been eating, and picked up her water bottle. He screwed the cap off, added his . . . health juice . . . and replaced the bottle. Then he walked over towards Eiji and me, his glasses flashing eerily.

"And now we wait," Inui said ominously. I shivered involuntarily, torn between curious and horrified.

Eiji was right about one thing, at least – nobody knew who had set off the firecrackers, and he didn't get in trouble at all. Quite surprising, what people can do when they feel like it – I had always thought Momo to be more the devious type, but Eiji was proving quite proficient himself.

* * *

Ayame didn't actually come into contact with the juice until last period, which was Japanese History today. She was obviously not interested in what we were learning about, and I could practically see the martial arts techniques she was performing in her mind. I repressed a smile as she stuck the lip of her bottle in her mouth, biting it for a moment before drinking.

The reaction was instantaneous. There was a clunk as the grey plastic of the water bottle hit the desk, and she stood up so quickly she knocked her chair down behind her. She started coughing then; her hand clamped on her mouth, and tore from the room. Sensei stared at the swinging door for a moment. "Ah . . . Yuki-san, please go make sure she's okay," sensei said, speaking to a quiet genius that always sat at the front of the class. Yuki wordlessly stood up, hurrying after Ayame.

I glanced at Inui, who had pulled his notebook out and was now writing in it as thought his life depended on it. A small smile flickered across my face, wishing that Eiji could have been here. Feeling eyes on my back, I turned to Tezuka, who I sat next to. There was an obvious question in his eyes: _what did you do? _

"Don't worry," I hissed at him, "It's only Inui Juice. She'll be okay in a few minutes."

If only that had been true.

At that moment Yuki burst through the door, saying franticly, "Sensei, she's having trouble breathing and I can't get her to move!" I heard the gasping coughs coming from the hallway, and my pencil snapped as my hand abruptly clenched. Sensei hurried out of the room, and I took advantage of the moment to leave my seat and go to Inui's.

"Are there peanuts in that stuff?" I said quietly, pointing to the water bottle. Inui, looking as shocked as Inui can look, nodded.

He looked at his notebook. "I have no data on a peanut allergy," he said.

I looked at him like he'd lost his mind. Was that really all he could worry about? "Well, now you do," I said crossly, grabbing Ayame's school bag and hurrying into the hallway.

She was slumped against the wall, and teachers who had heard the rasping coughing through their doors had surrounded her. Her face was pale, and one hand clutched at her throat, which I knew was swelling and closing off her bronchial tubes. I pushed the teachers aside, holding out the school bag. "Where do you keep the medicine?" I asked, and she pointed to the front pocket between coughs. Undoing the zipper of the bag, I quickly looked through the pocket until I found something that looked distinctly like an inhaler. I held it out to her, and Ayame used it several time until the wracking coughs eased. As soon as she was able, she started glaring at me. The effect was both diminished and increased by the fact her eyes were still watering from coughing.

She knew exactly what had happened. _Sorry, _I thought, _I know it's my fault. _All I said was, "Maybe you should go home early."

"My parents are busy," she said, "They'd have to come and sign me out. There's not much time left of school anyway." I frowned slightly; did she really think her parents were so busy they couldn't take care of their own sick child?

"I could call my mother," I said, not really relishing the thought, but willing anyway. "You shouldn't walk home." She shook head, muttered something about feeling perfectly fine and tried to stand, only to slide back down the wall.

I pulled out my phone with a sigh, and dialed my home number. "Mom? Can you come to school and get Ayame? Her parents are busy, and she's sick . . ."

"Um . . . alright," my mother answered, "I'll be right over . . ?"

Poor her, she was obviously confused. Then, who wouldn't be? "Thank you," I told her, and snapped it shut, Ayame's dark eyes still angrily locked on me. I looked her direction, but didn't meet her gaze. "She's coming to pick you up."

"Fine," Ayame said coldly, taking her bag and standing. This time she managed to stay up. "Thank you." Her words dripped with hidden venom. I swallowed, and made a mental note to barricade my window tonight.

* * *

Ayame

Stupid regulars. Stupid Inui. Stupid, stupid, stupid Kondo. I knew they hadn't meant to try to kill me, but Kondo at least should have checked if there were nuts _before_ I nearly passed out from lack of oxygen. I opened the door to my house moodily – Kondo's mother had brought me home a few minutes ago.

My first stop was my father's office, to let him know that I had had an allergy attack and was home early. He had made sure that I was breathing normally, and then hurried back to his work. Typical.

Next I went to my room. I grabbed all of my school stuff and made my way through my house and into the sterile white halls of the hospital. Knocking on Sachiko's door, I heard her call to enter and settled on the desk in the corner of the room.

"You're early," she observed, "You're not skipping class, are you?" I pretended to be shocked that she would think such a thing, then made a face and explained.

"The regular team fed me Inui Juice, which had some kind of peanut product in it," I sighed, "I'm allergic to peanuts and got sick. Kondo made me get sent home early. Probably feels guilty. And he should," I added grumpily.

Sachiko frowned worriedly; I snickered at how much she looked like her brother. "Are you alright?" she asked.

"Yup, I'm okay now," I said, "But I don't suppose I could convince you to help me with my math homework?"

Sachiko laughed, "Just a minute. There's something I wanted to discuss with you first." She suddenly seemed serious, and I blinked at her. "I took a test at school, and I can move up a grade into my first year of high school if I want. I'd like to attend Seishun High, and I've already completed, and passed the entrance exams. Since Shuichiro doesn't go to Seishun, I'd need someone else to help me around."

I knew what she was asking now. Sachiko was in a wheelchair nearly all the time, and there were stairs in the school. Smiling, I told her, "Of course. It's no trouble . . . and it's a convenient excuse when I'm late for class."

She grinned back, "I can tolerate that. So you'll help me next week, then?" I raised my eyebrows.

"So soon?" I asked, "Did you have this all arranged before you even asked for my help?" Sachiko just smiled innocently, making me snort. She acted sugar-sweet, but was actually quite manipulative. "Hmmm . . . ." I thought for a moment, "If you're transferring to Seishun, then . . . there might be something you can help me with. I'll be taking my revenge on Kondo by myself, but the rest of the team . . ." I paused for a moment, sorting out my half-formed plots, "is going to pay separately."

She looked surprised for a moment, and then said sweetly, "Just tell me what I can do to help."

Our conversation was interrupted at that moment by the entrance of Oishi, who had come to visit. "Hey, Sachiko-chan," he said, easing open the door, "How are you?" Then he looked at me, surprised. "I didn't know you were friends with Ayame-san." We'd met once before, at Taka's restraunt. I was surprised he rememberd me.

"My parents own this hospital," I explained quickly, "I'll go now. I'm taking you up on that promise about math, though," I warned.

Sachiko held one hand up to her forehead. "Aye, aye," she smiled, and I gathered my things and left her to visit her brother.

* * *

The upcoming test in karate was important. Really it was. So I should have been paying attention, and not just absentmindedly running through old forms and thinking about something completely unrelated to karate. But if I always did was supposed to do, I just wouldn't be me, now would I?

So, as I slowly ran through forms I'd had memorized months ago, the only thing on my mind was my revenge. I watched Kondo out of the corner of my eye – he was on the other side of the dojo, training one of the lower belts. We were not on speaking terms.

I thought back through the past five years that I'd known Kondo, searching for a fear, an opening, something I could use to humiliate him – and at first I came up blank. Kondo was such a genial person; he got along with everyone he met. Nobody had even tried to humiliate him.

"Ayame!" a voice barked behind me, "Focus!" It was Arakaki-sensei, the master of the dojo.

"Hai . . ." I sighed, trying not to sound too bored. Unfortunately, I didn't succeed. Arakaki-sensei grabbed my collar, and I automatically snapped one foot out behind me towards his pelvis.

"Hmmm . . . ." he said, having dodged my blow. "Are you angry at somebody, Ayame?" I pouted slightly and pointed at Kondo, which made him laugh.

"Why is that so funny?" I scowled, "He gave me peanuts by mistake. I could have died." Yes, I was being a bit melodramatic, and yes, he was also the one who gave me the medicine so I _didn't_ die, but if it wasn't for him, I wouldn't have needed the medicine in the first place. In my book, that eliminates any good deeds performed after.

"You're acting like lovers again," he snickered at me, and I hit him. Hard. "Ouch. That's more like it," he winced and smiled at the same time, "Put that same energy towards your training, now, ne?"

I growled irritably under my breath and stalked off to finish my forms. There was one good thing that had come from that particular conversation, though – now I knew exactly how I was going to humiliate Kondo.

_Arigato, sensei, _I thought mockingly to myself.

* * *

I meandered around the town, until I found a small shop that sold greeting cards and the like. Weaving through the isles, I found the small boxes of chocolates traditionally given out on Valentine's Day or White Day, and grabbed the fanciest, most girlish one present.

The lady at the counter smiled at me as I bought it, and said "Special someone's birthday?"

I smirked, "Not exactly." If only she knew. Something this pink and flirty – Kondo would never trace it back to me. And this was only the beginning. Wandering around the shops for awhile, I found a couple of very large, gushing, glittery pink cards, one card that sang, and a small collection of red and pink roses which I shoved into my bag.

Musing to myself the best way to get the stuff onto Kondo's desk and into his locker without anyone seeing me, I made my way home.

I stopped by Sachiko's room on my way back, to see if she had any ideas on the subject of the cards. Unfortunately, she didn't have any experience with that sort of thing – but thought it was hilarious, none the less, after I explained everything.

"I'll need you to help me with the team," I told her, "You won't need to move on your own or anything, but I need another set of hands. And Kazuko," I mourned with a sigh, "is grounded." Somehow her parents, who were actually quite strict, had caught wind of one of her pranks involving tacks and chairs, and she was under almost constant monitoring by her older brother, who was in his fourth and final year of high school.

"Umm . . ." Sachiko said, "What will we be doing, exactly?" I considered for a minute, and then chose a couple of plans that fit together rather nicely.

"We're going to lock them in the locker room," I said, "And paint the tennis balls purple." It was my intention to get the paint from my parents under the guise of needing it for a school project, since spray paint can be expensive. I was usually innocent enough for them to not monitor my actions closely. It was only one can, so they had no reason to be suspicious of my taking up graffiti, or something like that.

"You're really into the girly thing today, aren't you?" she asked. I nodded, and shrugged.

"There is no better way to ruin a man's pride," I declared, "Than treating him like a four-year-old girl." Sachiko considered for a moment, and then snickered. "I just need you to make sure they A) stay in the locker room, and B) something weird doesn't happen that makes the locked door a fire hazard."

"Got it," Sachiko told me. I nodded, and left.

I snuck into school early on Friday, and left a gushy card and the chocolates on Kondo's desk in first period. This was achieved by using a bobby pin I'd used to hold back my bangs to jimmy the lock on the classroom door, and leaving to inconspicuously wait in the courtyard before seeing Kondo at the gate and following him to class.

Since this was the first day, I didn't expect much. A few titters, some suspicious looks at different girls in the classroom. This was about what I got, though I was pleased by the blatant blush that had crawled up his neck and over his face when he read the card. It gave him a sort of fluorescent appearance that made me snicker.

A few girls, the kind that were at the top of the school's gossip grapevine, even had the guts to ask me if I'd been the one who left them, to which I coolly responded, "I'm not talking to him right now. Whichever fool left those there can do what they please."

My demeanor made the girls edge away warily, deciding that I'd had nothing to do with it. Perfect. Kondo had flushed once more, and stuffed the card and chocolates into his bag; he would throw them away when there was no chance that the giver was watching. Always the gentleman.

Sensei started to teach us about the relationships between the width of triangles and the radius of proportional circles, and I watched the regulars out of the corner of my eye. Fuji was smiling, staring at the board but clearly not really paying attention to what was on it. Tezuka was diligently taking notes, like the model student he is, though I strongly suspected that he didn't need them. Inui . . . appeared to be watching me back. I shivered and turned back to the board, making an attempt to understand the lesson. I didn't get it, so I'd have Sachiko teach it to me later.

In Biology we got our tests from last week back that day. I got a forty-eight. "Drat," I muttered. I was usually able to hold about a B+ average in science, but I'd been sick for the beginning of the last unit and hadn't understood it _at all. _Sensei kept referring back to things he'd taught in the early days of the lesson in reference to what we were learning, so I didn't even really get the parts I'd been in class for. I'd just been praying for seventy percent, or a passing grade.

The bell rang, and sensei asked me to stay. He pointed to my test. "I find it quite interesting that the only problems you got right were the multiple choice ones," he told me, "Did you just guess through the whole test?"

"Eh he he . . ." I said, rubbing the back of my head sheepishly. I was exceptionally good at guessing on multiple choice questions: you could usually get a pretty good idea from the way the problem was asked, the teacher giving the test, and the way the test was formatted. It's quite the talent, if I do say so myself. I'd picked it up sometime in the seventh grade, when I'd been too distracted to take tests properly.

Sensei sighed at me and shook his head. "You should consider some kind tutoring. This was an important concept, and you clearly don't understand it."

"My family is busy;" I said a little self-consciously, "Having a tutor might be difficult."

"Then you need to think about asking one of your classmates to explain it over lunch," he said frankly. There was a sinking feeling in my stomach as I began to feel like the victim of a bad fan-girl plot device. "You're quite well acquainted with Kondo Taro, correct? He got the second highest score in the class."

"Um . . ." I considered, trying to find the least childish way to explain my current problem with that idea, "I know him, but we don't really get along . . ." I tried, hoping he didn't notice that we'd gotten along perfectly well a week ago.

He raised an eyebrow at me, but to his credit took it in stride. "Tezuka-san, then? He had the highest score and I'm sure he'll be willing to teach you."

"That's even worse!" I shouted, then taking in the teacher's expression, a mix of shock and irritation, waved one hand in front of my face frantically and tried to backpedal. "I mean, could I not . . . ? Please?"

Sensei looked at me crossly, and folded his arms across his chest. "Why?" he said, "I realized that if you don't want to work with Kondo-san, you're angry at him for the moment. I don't want to pry, that's your business – but I see no reason why you shouldn't want to work with Tezuka-san. You barely know him."

"I don't get along well with strangers?" I tried, but there was no conviction in my tone.

"Tezuka it is, then," he said, making note of it in a planner. "I'll let him know on Monday, then." I nodded, because I didn't have a choice. Taking my school supplies, I slowly walked out into the hall.

"Kami-sama, help me," I moaned to myself. Oh, well. Maybe I'd be able to take advantage of this opprotunity, do something to throw Tezuka off. He was awfully fun to disturb, after all. Trying to keep my mind on all the horrible things I could do if he became my tutor instead of on all the horrible details I'd have to memorize if he became my tutor, I hurried towards my next class.

For the record, I was late.

* * *

A/N: Finally finished! Yes, this is a filler chapter. Sorry about that, hopefully it won't last long. No, this story is not going to turn into Tezuka/OC. I can promise that, because I don't write romance of my own accord. And I even have a good excuse for why this took so long to post: my computer, which as noted in the previous chapter, has been threatening to break all week, finally kicked the bucked last week. It took awhile to get it running again, when an essay for school inturrupted my writing still further. But I did fix my computer (hopefully) and I am now posting. Reviews are greatly appreciated, as are suggestions. I like hearing other people's ideas, but I can't guanantee I'll use them if I can't find a way to write them. Hopefully I'll post again before too long.


	9. Chapter 8: Of Chocolate and Pink

Disclaimer: See previous disclaimers.

**This Means War**

Ayame

I stayed after school on Friday to serve my detention for being late, because I had to bring Sachiko to school tomorrow and stupid Sensei forgot to give me a pass. There was one good thing about that, though: it gave me an opportunity to slip tomorrow's gushy card on Kondo's desk, and I could no long be associated with them because I wouldn't be coming into the classroom early if I was escorting a handicapped person. On Monday, I brought Sachiko from her room in the hospital to school, and despite my efforts (which maybe weren't quite as much as they could be), didn't make the first bell.

"Late again, Ayame," sensei chided, "Detention. During lunch or after school?"

"Not this time," I said triumphantly, because I had served a multitude of detentions for math class after oversleeping and morning detentions tended to be harsher than other detentions, "I've got a pass."

I had begged the pass off of Sachiko's first period teacher, who had been sympathetic about the whole thing because I was helping a student who couldn't walk properly on their own. I slapped it down on sensei's desk, grinning like a Cheshire Cat for a moment before making my way to my seat, ignoring the eyes that followed my through the aisles of seats. Flopping down in my seat, I pulled out my math book and ignored my growing dread about the upcoming science tutoring.

Deciding that I should actually pay attention for once, I tried to focus on the lesson, but my thoughts wandered. _How can I turn that dumb old study session in my favor? _I wondered. Other than the obvious, cheating off of Tezuka's homework, I also wanted to use the too-perfect excuse for a prank. Not enough to really cause him trouble; just shake him up a little bit, make him react. Like the calculator.

I recalled the veins you could see practically popping out of his forehead during that incident, and had to work to stifle my spontaneous laughter. Dragging my attention back to the board, I snuck a glance over at Kondo, whose ears were still a nice shade of red.

_Ah, fan girls, _I sighed to myself, _Can't live with them, can't live without them. _This entire stunt was based off of Osakada Tomoka, better known as Tomo-chan, Fan Girl Extraordinaire, who had pulled something similar on Ryoma in their last year of middle school. Of course, Ryoma had made her stop. And Kondo couldn't make me stop, because he didn't know who I was.

Sensei finally concluded his lecture, and moments later the bell went off. I internally moaned to myself, next period today was Home Economics. I hated that class. Cooking was way out of my league: I always seemed to get distracted at the wrong time or miss a crucial direction that spoils the whole thing. By seventh grade, I'd pretty much given up any hope at being able to cook, build, or anything like that. When we did group work, I always made sure I got clean-up duty, because living in a hospital had made me clean to the point of obsessed.

And I'm very good at what I obsess over.

Unfortunately, there was no merciful group work today. "Since Valentine's Day is coming up," sensei told us, "I was thinking we'd all make chocolate today." My initial reaction was the horror of the idea of cooking by myself, and then to frantically check the date: I'd completely lost track of time, and it came as a bit of a shock to realize we had exams in three months. Sensei started to write basic directions on the large chalk board, and I went back to considering the prank wars. In the end, I decided that the chocolates I would make today would end up with Momo: because he'd be stupid enough to eat them, and he would probably be too flattered that a girl would do that to bother wondering why and shoving them off onto someone else like the others would do. I, for one, knew that the regulars could never eat all the chocolate they got: on several birthdays and Valentine's Days, Kondo had used me as a means of disposing of the piles of chocolates. Some of them were very tasty.

Sensei gave us all our supplies and I considered the best possible way to make them taste bad. I didn't have Inui's talent for repulsiveness, and they needed to see like normal chocolates, so I decided to stick to adding a little wasabi and Tabasco I'd found at my station. My greatest triumph, though, was that they only came out slightly burnt.

At lunch, I slipped into the clubroom and slipped them into the locker I knew was Momo's, having encountered it during the hair-dye prank. Though my main focus right now was working out the details of who would be where for the spray paint tomorrow, I figured smaller pranks like that couldn't hurt.

The rest of the day passed quietly, and I was forced to stay behind in the Science room for my tutoring session. Tezuka came in, not looking much happier than I was feeling, but he was patient. And, though I'd never admit it to anyone aloud, he was a pretty good teacher.

_Who cares? _I told myself crossly, finishing the last problem on the worksheet Sensei had left for us to fill out; _He's still an annoying narcissist. _And thus I survived my first tutoring session with Tezuka with minimal difficulty. I rather wanted to see what Momo had done with the chocolates, so I made my way past the club room as I left school.

My timing was perfect. As I walked by, he had pulled them out of a weird look and was joking with Eiji. Momo pulled open the wrapping, tossing one to Eiji (even better) and taking one for himself. He popped it in his mouth: and choked. Reeling for the spiciness, he grabbed the nearest water bottle – which unfortunately for him, belonged to Inui. Momo was out cold.

Eiji, luckily, had also eaten the chocolate, but he was faring slightly better than Momo, having gone for the water fountain instead. "What . . . was that?!" Eiji coughed, I could hear him through the partially open window. I tapped on the glass, and grinned at Momo and Eiji.

"Payback," I told them, "Just the start." Then, because Momo had started to recover and looked like he was going to come after me, I ran away from the club room and back to my house. By the time I'd made it back, I was gasping for breath. _Definitely need to work on my endurance, _I decided, internally groaning at the thought. Sachiko had caught a ride with her uncle, and she wouldn't be back at the hospital until later tonight.

I spent the next few hours scowling over my homework, and when Sachiko arrived back, I caught her to tell her about the chocolate and fill her in on the details of tomorrow. "I'm going to pick you up after your last class tomorrow. If we move fast, we'll be able to get there just as the tennis club is in the clubroom."

"I'm not good at moving fast," Sachiko pointed out.

"I already factored that in," I informed her, "Inui is giving a strategic lecture and new training menus tomorrow, so they'll all be inside for longer than usual." I held up a roll of silvery duct tape, "I'll help you cover the edges of the door with this. I have the spray paint, which I'll then use to coat the tennis balls. All I need you to do is sit next to the door and make sure they don't get out. I'm going to run by when I'm done, and then I'm going to get off campus. About five minutes after you see me, pull the tape off, and tell them you found it that way and pulled it off to help."

"Are they going to believe me?" she asked, considering punishments if we were caught.

"They'll believe you," I told her, "You're the younger sister of one of their friends, after all. You wouldn't do that. Plus, you're in a wheelchair. All the blame would fall to me, but without any kind of proof, no one's going to get into trouble."

"One more question," Sachiko said with a sigh, "Why aren't we doing this over a weekend or overnight like you did last time you tampered with the tennis balls?"

"Because," I told her, "The school's gotten smarter. There are now cameras watching the supplies room."

"Oh," she said, "You'll make sure no one sees you right? It'd be sort of hard for me if everybody was afraid of me."

"Don't worry," I told her, "I'm careful. I haven't been caught yet, have I?" I tipped my head to one side, and smiled. "Everything's going to be just fine."

"Ready?" I asked Sachiko, who was waiting outside room 2-2. She nodded. I grabbed the back of her chair and hurried towards the elevator. We were soon outside, and there was nobody around. I grabbed the duct tape and quickly slapped a few long pieces over the sides of the door.

Handing the tape to Sachiko, I told her, "Secure that, I'm going to grab the tennis balls." They were sitting out on the courts in green plastic baskets, and I ran over to them. Grabbing the baskets, I moved quickly behind the clubhouse and spread them out over the grass. Looking back and forth, I scanned and made sure no one was around.

Fishing through my bag as fast as I could, I pulled out two cans of spray paint: one light purple, and the other sort of dark pink. Starting with the purple one, I quickly shook it and lightly covered the top sides of the tennis balls. Since I didn't really care if the paint got messed up, I rolled them over and sprayed the other side. The ground was now covered in purple paint, but I didn't mind. I just had to make sure I hurried.

Leaving those baskets of balls to dry, I grabbed the remaining baskets and tipped them on their side, and they thudded against the grass. Shaking the pink spray paint, I covered the next basket in the same manner as I had covered the previous ones. Finally, I loaded them carefully back into the baskets. Because spray paint is so thin, they had begun to dry, but I didn't want any incriminating paint of my shirt or arms.

I set the tennis team's newly colored tennis balls unceremoniously back on the court, washed off the paint that had gotten onto my hands, and rushed back over to Sachiko. Grinning and giving her a thumbs-up, I turned toward the gate and ran, occasionally dodging out of my way to make sure nobody saw me. The less people who knew I had stayed late on campus today, the better.

As I darted inconspicuously behind a tree as a couple of freshman walked past, it took an absolutely astronomical amount of self control not to start singing the _Mission Impossible _theme to myself. I hurried outside the gates, running halfway home. Ideally, I would have gone all the way back to my house, but I had to pick up Sachiko. I'd call her in a few minutes, I decided, and settled on the bench next to the bus stop. The other kids from school had already been picked up, and I was alone except for a few passerby hurrying down the street.

_Mission Impossible: _Accomplished.

Kondo

I was the first one to notice that the door wouldn't open. I grabbed the handle and shoved it, expecting it to swing open easily, but it didn't. _That's weird, _I thought, pushing and pulling it, checking the handle. _It moves, _I frowned, moving the handle up and down, _So it's not locked, after all. But the door won't open! _With growing confusion, I slammed into the door with my shoulder. It moved a fraction of an inch, and then went back to its original position.

Slamming the door had called the attention of the rest of the tennis club. "What's wrong, Taro-chan?" Eiji said, "Did the door call you an insulting name?" I looked at him like he'd lost his mind.

"It won't open," I told him, shoving the door one more time, to no avail.

"Don't be ridiculous, senpai," Momo said, "How could it not open?" I stepped back, gesturing at the door.

"If I knew, I would have opened it already," I snapped. "Want to try yourself? Be my guest."

Momo shrugged, and tried, but didn't have any more success than I'd been having. His purple eyes widened in panic, as he exclaimed, "Something's holding the door shut! We're trapped!" I tried to refrain from rolling my eyes at his countenance, even though his words were probably correct. Unfortunately, we had no way of knowing what was holding the door closed because the only windows in the place were so small a cat could barely fit through them, and facing opposite the door.

While I stood calmly, thinking about the best way to get out of the club room, Eiji grabbed an old desk chair that was sitting in one corner of the door, and abruptly slammed it against the door like a battering ram. He succeeded only in knocking the ends off of the chair legs. "Kami, Eiji!" I shouted at him, "What do you think you're doing?"

He looked at me like _I'm_ the one who had just gone crazy. "I'm getting the door open," he explained.

Echizen, who had been plucking at the strings of his racket in the corner until now, spoke up. "I think you better not, senpai. You won't get it open before you destroy the chair, and maybe not after either." Normally, he really doesn't talk that often, but I think he commented at this moment just because he wanted to sound infuriatingly superior, as he so loves to do. Luckily, his intervention got Eiji to hesitate, which lead to him putting the chair down after less than subtle glare from Tezuka.

"We need to think about this logically," Inui said, "What could be outside blocking the door? Can we move it, or will it be moved in its own time?"

"Perhaps it's Ayame," Fuji smiled. "She did seem rather angry about the Inui juice, ne, Kondo?"

"Of course she was angry," I sighed, "If that's the case, though, she'll let us out eventually. Unless anybody else wants to try the door?" I offered, looking around. After Kawamura had left the team, Momoshiro had become the primary power player on the tennis team. Since he had shoved frantically and failed to move it an inch, nobody else was eager to waste their energy.

Tezuka stood scowling next to the wall of lockers. To anybody who didn't know him, his face would have been perfectly impassive. But I could tell, just like the rest of the team could tell, that he'd just about had it with Ayame's pranks. _She does need to stop before she gets herself into real trouble, _I sighed, _she's making some very powerful enemies. _

An awkward kind of silence hung in the club room for a few moments before a strange ripping noise came through the door. There was a slight knock, and a soft female voice calling, "Is anybody in there?"

Tezuka approached the door and quickly took charge. "Yes. Is there something in the way of the door?"

"It was taped," the voice came, "I'm trying to get it all off right now." That explained the ripping noise. "Please wait for a few minutes."

We could hear the tape being systematically ripped off, and then the door slowly opened. "We're saved," Momo smiled, throwing his hands into the air. Our 'savior' waited in the doorway – it was a young looking girl, probably a freshman. She sat in a wheelchair, and looked as though pulling the tape off had been difficult for her: her long, dark hair was messed up, and her cheeks had turned pink with exertion.

"I'm sorry that took so long," she said, "I'm sort of sick, and I can't get out of this chair. Some of the tape was too high for me, so I just took off what I could and pulled the door." She struck me as the very sweet type, who would always go out of her way to help people, perhaps with a motherly personality towards those younger than herself.

Eiji jumped around Tezuka at the door, crying, "Chiko-chan! What are you doing here?" It appeared as though they were already acquainted – like they knew each other rather well, in fact.

"Eiji!" she smiled, "I'm a freshman here. Is this the tennis club, then?" The girl Eiji called Chiko-chan smiled and looked around us, as though she knew us already.

"This is Oishi's little sister, Sachiko" Eiji smiled, "I've met her before when I was visiting Oishi's house." Sachiko nodded to all of us. Looking at her again, I realized she bore a distinct resemblance to her brother.

"I know all of you, at least by name," she smiled, "I came to watch my brother at Nationals." That made sense; tennis was such a huge part of her brother's life. Of course she would have heard about us, particularly the middles school regulars.

"Did you see a girl with black hair a little past her shoulders and brown eyes around here, wearing the school uniform?" I asked, wondering if Ayame was behind the mysterious taping of the club room's door.

"You're talking about Suzuki-senpai, right?" she asked me. "I'm staying at her family's hospital, so I know her. And I know what's going on between her and the tennis club. But, sorry, I didn't see her."

"That doesn't necessarily mean she's not behind it," Echizen commented scornfully.

"We'll see," I said. Personally, I agreed with Echizen, but I didn't like jumping to conclusions, either. The entire tennis team filed out of the club room, prepared to proceed with basic practice like normal – only to discover that, once again somebody had sabotaged the tennis balls.

They were all messily painted pink and purple, like the culprit had been in a hurry. The paint was still drying, and the different colors had started to rub off onto each other, creating a magenta tye-dye. I walked over and picked one up, some of the paint smearing onto my hand. "Well," I frowned, "These could be interesting to practice with."

Tezuka closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. You could practically see him counting to ten in his head to calm down. He looked at me. "Did she do this?" he asked. He didn't have to identify who 'she' was.

"Absolutely," I said, "This has Ayame written all over it. Best of luck finding proof, though. She'll deny the whole thing." Tezuka scowled and nodded, cancelling practice for the day.

"Regulars, stay," he commanded, "Try to get the color off before it dries." With Kaidou and Inui, I carried the baskets of balls over to the hose. Eiji, unfortunately, grabbed the hose before anyone else could, and would not relinquish control.

Needless to say, with in the next twenty minutes, everybody was soaked to the bone. Tezuka had been intelligent enough to stand by and 'supervise' so he had only been hit by back splash, and was the only dry one there. Eiji truly had no mercy. Our sacrifice, unfortunately, was in vain. We were able to get just enough paint off the dye the grass on the side of the club room pink, but the tennis balls certainly did not revert to their normal yellow. In the end, we gave up and left.

"Where's Sachiko-chan?" Eiji wondered aloud, as we packed up to leave. I thought back, trying to remember where she'd gone.

"I think she left with the other club members, after somebody called her. Something about being picked up," I recalled. That was good enough for Eiji, who happily skipped off to try to guilt Momo into paying for their daily after-school burger splurge.

* * *

I walked into the classroom Wednesday morning, and internally groaned. _Kami, why do you hate me? _I thought. The persistent but anonymous admirer that had started leaving chocolates and cards shortly after giving Ayame Inui Juice had become more and more flamboyant. It had become great entertainment for the other students in the class to see what appeared on my desk every day.

Today it was a bundle of roses, a very dark shade of pink, and a frilly card that read 'Lots of love 3'. I sighed, shoving them off my desk in irritation. All of the tennis regulars put up with this to a certain extent, but none of the others had anything to this degree. Some of my classmates watched with a smile, smirking at my predicament.

I was restless throughout first period, because I was used to storing energy for morning practice, which had been cancelled because the coach, Kito Rin, still hadn't replaced the tennis balls. She was also quite bent on finding out who had repeated sabotaged the tennis club – but she didn't have chance. Coach Kito seemed to think it was a rival tennis club, or something along those lines, but I knew who it really was.

Glancing at Ayame, my eyes caught hers for a second before I dragged my gaze back to the chalkboard. She was very good at covering her tracks, even better at feigning innocence. I sat in the back of the room, and could see all that went on in class. Tezuka had slowed his usual diligent note taking, and appeared to be thinking hard about something. His head turned slightly Ayame's direction, and I could guess what it was – he was going to try to make her stop disrupting the club. Fuji was smiling out the window; Inui was looking through his green notebook and not paying attention to sensei at all.

I couldn't help but idly wonder exactly what they were planning for retribution. Tezuka might be a perfectly reasonable person, but Fuji and Inui really weren't. They weren't going to calmly discuss anything.

The person responsible for all of the chaos had her head resting in the crook of her elbow, down on her desk. She appeared to be finishing yesterday's homework assignment that she had neglected to complete last night.

Sensei finished the lesson, and the bell rang. I eagerly leapt out of my seat, moving towards my next class.

* * *

A little over six and a half painfully boring hours of school later, I was released from my final class of the day. Unsure of whether or not tennis practice was scheduled, I had gone to find Tezuka. After being sent around the school because I had mistakenly asked for his location from people who had absolutely _no _idea what they were talking about, I finally found him in the science room.

I was quite surprised when I found that Ayame was with him.

"Yeah, I got it," Ayame said, sounding a little bit bored, "I know everything I need for the test now, right? I'll leave then. You have tennis practice, right?"

"It's cancelled," he said. It looked to me like he had been tutoring her – she'd been slacking off in Science, no doubt. I now knew that there would be no practice, but I stayed and listened all the same because Tezuka, who never talks more than is absolutely necessary, had started to speak.

"I wished to discuss that with you," he began stiffly, like always. "The tennis balls were sabotaged again."

"Really?" Ayame smiled, but I could hear the mocking maliciousness in her voice. "That's too bad."

Tezuka looked at her like she was a fish that had been left in the sun for a week. "Everybody knows you are responsible. Vandalism is a crime, you realize."

"I didn't do it," she said, her voice flat. "I don't care what you think; I'm not going to admit anything. Innocent until proven guilty, right, Tezuka?"

Tezuka frowned perceptibly. "Please do not interrupt practice again," Tezuka said. "I don't know what quarrel you have with the regulars, but please make sure it doesn't interfere with their tennis."

Sensing an end to their conversation, I turned away from the door and started to walked away. But, as I left I could help but smile a little at Ayame's sarcastic, mocking parting words.

"Don't let your guard down."

* * *

A/N: It's been a while since I updated . . . I have no excuse, except mild writers block. I will keep updating, promise - I hate it as much as anyone when a story is stopped in the middle - but it might take awhile. This chapter was about 4,200 words, which is good for me. I'm afriad I don't have the patience for chapters much longer than this, sorry. Thank you so much to all the people who have been kind enough to review my story, I owe you all. Thank you for all of your help, I'm still looking for ideas, critism, or anything that, on an off chance, I might have done well. I want to be able to post again before too long - it depends entirely on the level of writers block I'm encountering.


	10. Chapter 9: Honor Among Pranksters

Disclaimer: I think you can guess by now.

**This Means War**

Ayame

After my little talk with Tezuka, I had sort of expected the tennis team to retaliate. It was only natural, after all the trouble I'd caused them. One happy day passed normally, but on Thursday, it because clear what their intentions were.

Thursday started normally enough, but that changed when I reached my locker. I was already running a bit late, since I had brought Sachiko to her class again, but if everything went as planned, I still could have made it on time.

Everything didn't go as planned. The problem was opening my locker. After entering the combination and raising the latch, I still could seem to open the door. No matter how hard I pulled, even if I threw all my weight backwards, it wouldn't come open. I looked at the crack between the door and the wall of the locker, and there was no longer any question what was holding the door close.

"Superglue," I scowled. I made a mental note to find Kazuko again; she had a method involving hydrochloric acid and a packing knife that could break superglue, with some effort. While pondering the best time to break my locker open, the bell rang.

"Dammit!" I growled, spinning towards my class. I tore through the halls, but it was already too late. As I walked through the door, I could see Inui watching me expectantly, and Fuji concealing giggles. I stalked through the classroom, reluctantly accepting my detention, and slumping into my seat.

Leaning over to my neighbor, a girl who I was on good terms with, I hissed, "I need a pencil and lined paper, please." She quietly passed them over, and for the next three classes, I continued to take notes on pillaged paper.

Because I didn't have my homework for English, I acquired yet another detention. It was starting to seem like I was spending as much time serving my disciplinary sentences as I was taking classes.

As sensei began to finish the lesson, I hurriedly packed up. My lunch happened to coincide with the second years today, and if I moved fast, I could probably catch Kazuko and get her to help me open my locker door. Normally, I could have done it by myself, but the pocketknife I keep at school was – three guesses – in my locker.

Hurrying through the halls, I caught a glimpse of streaked hair rounding a corner in the second floor hallway. I pushed through the crowds of students milling around the hall, and called to her. "Kazuko!"

She looked up, and held up her hand. "Do you need some assistance again, senpai?" she asked with her little angel smile, that didn't seem nearly as out-of-place as it should have on her face.

"I'm afraid I do," I sighed, "Not offensive, this time. More like damage control." She shrugged.

"Oh, well. It's to be expected. Make sure you get back at them, though. It's not good to fall behind, especially with idiots like them. What's the problem?" Kazuko asked.

"They super glued my locker shut," I explained, "You have a way to open it, right? Didn't something like that happen to you in middle school?"

"Actually, yes," she smiled, "Somebody glued me in the science room. For shame, that was a fire hazard," she added the last sentence sarcastically, and then adopted the educational tone of a teacher introducing a new topic to their class. "When in a situation like that, creativity is key. For example, they failed to realize that by using concentrated hydrochloric acid, on can dissolve superglue, which can then be picked out of the crack of the door using a dissection knife."

I nodded, smiling to myself. Kazuko was quite brilliant, really. She could have easily been near the top of her class, if she hadn't chosen to redirect her effort at what she considered more amusing ventures. But she hadn't become a miniature, female Tezuka; and that was why I liked her.

"So, to the science room, then?" I asked, "Oda-sensei is easily distracted, so we should be able to get what we want from his room."

Kazuko nodded, "We'll make an evil genius out of you yet. All we have to do is tell him we heard there was going to be a fight on the basketball courts, and he'll be gone for at least twenty minutes."

And that was exactly what we did. At the first mention of a fight, Oda-sensei (who I think might have mild panic disorder) raced from the room, and Kazuko and I immediately started looking through the cabinets. I found the acids in the back, luckily in a box that wasn't locked. If we had gone to a more responsible teacher, we never would have been able to open that box. That was part of the reason why we choose good old unreliable Oda in the first place.

I opened the tan metal box, and looked in slight confusion at the collection of medication-orange plastic bottles with black rubber eyedropper covers staring back at me. They all looked identical to me, but luckily Kazuko knew what she was doing.

"Let me see," she instructed, systematically lifting the bottles and reading the sticker labels, which had looked like nonsense to me. "Here it is. The strongest concentration of hydrochloric acid kept at school," she announced pointing at some bolded letters among the rest of the meaningless labels. **HCl 20M.**

"Oh," I said feeling kind of stupid. Kazuko slipped the bottle into the breast pocket of her uniform jacket, and stood.

"Coming?" she asked, turning towards the door, "I'm getting my pocket knife, because we're less likely to break it prying the door open. It's thicker."

"Yeah," I said, but my attention was on something else. As Kazuko had pulled out the hydrochloric acid, it had revealed the label of a nearby bottle. This one wasn't labeled solely with a chemical formula, but also with its name.

Propionic acid. As Kazuko turned her back towards the door, I slipped the second bottle into my own pocket, before replacing the rest of the chemicals and following her out the door.

At the time, I wasn't entirely sure what I was planning on doing it, but it seemed like a good thing to have if I was going to retaliate again. And, in accordance to Tezuka's request, it shouldn't affect the tennis team's practice. I coughed to myself to cover a smirk.

After Kazuko had retrieved her pocketknife from her own locker, we set about opening mine. Using the eyedropper cover, I carefully funneled it down the thin crack between the door and the wall that was filled with glue. It was strong enough that if I used too much in one place, it started to visibly eat away the metal of the locker door. On the bright side, most of the glue was either gone or easily broken when I was finished. Kazuko chipped out the last of the glue, and my locker opened at last.

There were two downsides to my brilliant plan. The first was that our little project attracted an uncountable number of stares from the other students. Fuji also found out, and he, Eiji, and Momo came to laugh at my expense. Inui also came, and smirked knowingly, but he didn't actually laugh like the rest of them. They stood a little huddle to the side, snickering to each other and generally patting themselves on the back.

I couldn't help but notice Kondo's conspicuous absence from the group, but decided that he was probably spending lunch helping the secretary at the office, goody two-shoe that he is.

The other downside was that, even though Kazuko got a chance to eat as I destroyed the glue with the acid, I didn't. And because I had two consecutive detentions after school, it was quite likely I wouldn't be eating until late tonight. I sighed, thinking about my poor stomach as I went through my locker, finding the books I'd need until the end of school. Sometimes it seemed these plans were as hard on me as they were on them.

But, I reminded myself, recalling one of Kazuko's earliest 'lessons', patience is important. All the best pranks require time and thoroughness. That was why my pranks had a lasting effect on the tennis team, and I was able to work my way out of theirs.

Almost all of theirs, I corrected myself, having to mentally stop my chain of thought yet again. The Inui Juice, I hadn't gotten out of – Kondo had gotten me out of it. But seeing as it was his fault I had been in such a situation in the first place, it didn't count.

Thinking of Kondo made me remember that I needed to run by his first period classroom after school, to drop off tomorrow's chocolates. Since the tennis tournament was coming up this weekend, I would also be hanging up a large banner proclaiming 'Go, Kondo-chan!' Depending on the reaction I got, my slow and painful fan girl revenge was coming to an end. Pretty soon the more prying girls would start staying after school or coming early, trying to catch me, and I couldn't evade them forever.

So, I had prepared flowers, chocolates, a card, plus the large obnoxious banner. The grand finale. I shoved all of it into my backpack, and hurried off to catch my first detention.

* * *

The first detention with the math teacher was about what one would expect from a detention. First I went through grading homework, and then I had to write sentences; all while the sensei watched me glaringly while working on his computer. He finished with a lecture on punctuality and preparedness, which I treated like I normally did – smile and nod. After about an hour and a half, I was finally free to go to the science classroom, to finish my second detention.

For the most part, that was normal, too, only in the opposite order. First the lecture, then the sentences, and at the end of my three hour long detention-marathon, and finally the grading. It was during aforementioned grading that something rather interesting happened. I was looking through notebooks, that sensei had us keep notes and lab reports in, when I stumbled across none other than Kondo's. And at that exact moment, most conveniently, the teacher left to give a note to one of the other teachers, on a different floor. As soon as he left the room, my reaction was to wonder, exactly, would be the best thing to do now that I was left alone.

And then I looked, again, at Kondo's notebook. And realized that, I had also graded Eiji's notebook not that long ago. At one point, I had also seen Inui's, but it was submerged in the rest of the class's notebooks, and I didn't have chance of finding it in time, which was a shame. I reached into the breast pocket of my white uniform shirt, and pulled out a small dropper. Labeled propionic acid, and sealed close. I pinched my nose, and painted it into Kondo's notebook, and Eiji's notebook, sealing them closed.

For those of you who have never dealt with that particular chemical before, it absolutely reeks. Even relatively small amounts can take about an hour to air out, and it smells something like baby barf. And my experience with baby barf is particularly bad, because the babies I deal with are usually sick, and even when they're not throwing up, they smell like a rodent that crawled under the dryer and died a week and half ago in the middle of summer.

Conveniently, however, it can be hidden in a tightly squeezed notebook. Until said notebook is opened, that is, and the chemical is open to the air. I snickered, glad that I didn't have second period science on Friday.

The grand finale, indeed.

* * *

Kondo

I was distracted on Friday, I admit it. The finals were coming up, and we were facing Hyotei. The old rivalry from middle school didn't really matter to me, nor did the match order, because I always played doubles, but everyone else was so excited, it was hard to pay as much attention in class as I should have.

The 'secret admirer' had gone overboard today, and sensei was sneezing all throughout the lesson because of a hay fever from the flowers. It had taken a solid ten minutes to clean up the banner, which had been colored and decorated with glitter, proclaiming, _Do your best, tennis-samas! Go, Kondo-chan! _in Day-Glo letters.

The rest of the class, however, got a kick out of it. I think I made their day with my humiliation.

In second period, the day went from bad to worse. It was Eiji that opened the horrible notebook first, and the smell of whatever it was immediately wafted through the room. I choked, covering my nose and thinking it would go away. I was wrong. As soon as I opened my notebook, it instantly became a thousand times worse.

"What the . . ." I trailed off; because the smell was so strong I felt something like I could taste it when I opened my mouth. By now the entire class had noticed and was covering there face and one rather sensitive girl that sat next to Eiji had hurried out of the room. From there, it only got worse. Instead of the smell airing out, it only got more concentrated in the confined classroom. Sensei, as nonchalantly as possible, opened the door and all the windows, but it didn't seem to help.

It was Eiji's sharp eyes that detected the source of the smell. He waved his notebook in front of the teacher (which, in retrospect, was rather stupid, because he fanned the smell all over the room.) shouting, "There's something smelly in here, sensei!" and pointing out a nearly invisible streak of clear liquid shining on the paper. And sure enough, the closer you got to that streak, the worse the smell got.

If it had been anyone's notebook but Eiji or Inui, I wouldn't have thought twice. But, since it was Eiji, and I had noticed how much worse the smell got by my notebook, too, I started flipping through the pages – and low and behold, mine, too had the smelling substance painted on it's pages. It was over the notes, too, so I couldn't simply pull the pages out.

Eiji and I quickly turned our notebooks into sensei, amid a mix of gagging girls and snorting laughter. I was pretty sure I knew who was behind this. Sensei examined our notebooks distastefully, and said, "Please read pages 210 to 255 while I get rid of these." Then he looked at us and said, "I will make copies of your notes before I throw them away."

We trusted sensei to take care of it properly (stupid), so we let him have the notebooks and leave the classroom. Some of the more studious people started reading the assigned pages, but everybody else just skimmed the first few topics before getting distracted. I was among the second section of the class, and I started talking to Eiji.

"Ayame did it," I told him, "I don't know how, but it was definitely her." Eiji nodded.

"Of course it was, Taro-chan. But you won't turn her in, will you?" he said, laughing at me knowingly as he said the last sentence, and winking.

"It's too much trouble. She's sort of a pain to have angry at you, if you haven't noticed," I said dryly, choosing to ignore his teasing implications. Eiji just laughed at me. The smell was starting to air out of the classroom when sensei came back, and the lesson proceeded normally.

Or, at least it did for about twenty minutes. Then the smell came back, not as strong as before, but still definitely there. And this time, the other classroom doors opened, and the smell had infected the entire hallway.

It was coming from the vents. Sensei had burned the notebooks, because throwing them away wouldn't have gotten rid of the smell. But the smoke still smelled awful, and it had gotten into the air conditioning – and now the whole school smelled like whatever mysterious substance had been smeared in our notebooks. That was why it had been a bad idea to give sensei our notebooks.

I can't really say exactly what happened in the next forty five minutes or so, only that the smell got progressively worse until the entire school was evacuated in confusion. As we all settled outside the school buildings, classes mingling together and teachers loosing all semblance of control, I saw the principal walk into the crowd.

As I was trying to make myself scarce so I wouldn't be found and involved in this mess anymore than I already was, I saw his eyes land on me, and he pulled me out of the crowd. "Follow me," he said, not giving any other explanation as he wove through the masses of students, locating with surprising precision Eiji and a second year girl I recognized as Ayame's friend Kazuko. It probably didn't hurt that their hair stood our rather dramatically, Eiji because his hair was so unusually bright and Kazuko because she was one of the few students with the guts to challange the school 'no dyed hair' rule.

The principal took us aside; to a small office building that wasn't connected to the main school building. The vice principal, as well as some other staff were gathered there. You could practically see the brooding black cloud over their heads. All their anger, luckily, seemed to be directed at Kazuko, and not Eiji or myself.

The vice principal spoke first. "I'll cut to the chase," he frowned, "Kazuko, do you have anything to do with this?" Kazuko, in my memory, was involved in every large-scale prank in the school. Recently, Ayame had been giving her a run for her money, but I had a sneaking suspicion that Kazuko had been involved in a few of those too. The planning, at least, if not the execution. The carefully crafted innocent look only helped confirm my thoughts.

"I didn't do it," she said, "I have no more idea what's going on than you do." She was very convincing in the way she said it, looking straight at them and not a trace of guilt or fear in her voice.

Eiji and I stood by watching, Eiji's usual grin slightly dimmed by the heavy atmosphere. The adults were very angry that it had escalated into an entire school evacuation; this prank had turned into something as extreme as somebody pulling the fire alarm. If Ayame was caught, it would likely result in suspension.

"Do you have any idea who might have done it?" the vice principal pressed. I didn't know Kazuko very well, only that she tended to be more of a loner and that she liked to pull pranks. She also had a reputation as an experienced blackmailer who had set up a school wide network that she used mainly for person gain. Over all, she wasn't someone that I would want to get involved with if I could avoid it.

Kazuko shook her head, and proclaimed, "I had nothing to do with this, like I said. I don't know who did it. Besides, I don't even really know what happened."

"A chemical from the lab was taken, and sealed in the notebooks of the two boys over there," the vice principal said, "And when it was burned, the smell of the smoke circulated throughout the school."

Kazuko smirked, "Oh? And who did the burning?" The vice principal stiffened slightly, a waved his hand in the direction of our science teacher, who was part of the group of staff that had gathered. "Then doesn't it make it his fault?" Kazuko grinned, looking rather pleased with herself for managing to turn the blame on a teacher.

The vice principal scowled and persisted in phrasing and rephrasing the questions he'd already asked, to no avail. Kazuko's answers remained consistent. At last, she sighed, and pointed out, "And pray tell, when did I get access to the third year science notebooks?"

"You may leave," the vice principal snapped, his patience for her circuitous, argumentative answers clearly dwindling and not wanting to answer her question.

"Thank you," she purred, flouncing off in a self pleased way that reminded me of Echizen at his worst. Now it was me and Eiji's turn.

"You heard our questions earlier," the vice principal said, turning to us, "We obviously don't think either of you are the culprit, but if you have any idea who might be, we'd appreciate any information."

"No, I have no idea," I said smoothly with the practiced ease of someone who had wriggled out of one too many tight situations involving Ayame in the past. Eiji agreed with me enthusiastically, which made me smile. It seems that he had no inclination to turn her in, either.

"Very well, then," the vice principal sighed in defeat. "I suppose you may go, as well," he dismissed us. I slunk away and Eiji bounded after me. I was somewhat surprised to see that Kazuko had waited for us on the edge of the crowd.

"You do know who did it, right?" I asked her, slightly against my better judgment.

"Of course," she laughed. "I'm not stupid. That's what they get for putting her in consecutive detentions, though. I'm very proud of her. This kind of chaos is pure genius, no other word for it." She idly swept her hand, surveying the boisterous crowd of students. "Pure genius."

"Why didn't you turn her in?" I asked, not entirely sure I wanted to hear the answer.

"Blackmail material?" Eiji chirped, asking the silent question that I had implied.

"I just told you," Kazuko said, rolling her eyes, "She's got talent. I wouldn't want that potential to be squandered because she suddenly develops a fear of the disciplinary system. Besides, just what kind of person do you think I am?" The smirk that she plastered on her face along with the last question gave me the feeling of cold water running down my spine.

Eiji laughed, and I hovered between worry that Ayame was going to get into even more serious trouble later and relief that Kazuko seemed to be on Ayame's side against the school and wasn't going to turn her in. Kazuko flashed us a superior Echizen-esque smile, telling us how Ayame had gotten the chemical. "You know," she added, "You're the reason the locker was glued shut, so aren't you supposed to be taking some blame here?" I stared at her, not entirely sure of the right way to answer a question like that.

Inui appeared behind us shortly thereafter. "You two were questioned about this incident. As such, there is a 94 percent chance that Ayame is some how responsible for the evacuation of the school."

"Try, 100 percent chance," Kazuko laughed dryly, "She didn't mean it though." Inui scribbled something in his notebook, and flipped through the pages, he seemed to be examining Kazuko as she smirked irritatingly at him. "Don't tell anyone, 'kay? You'd ruin the fun. Besides, if there's honor among pranksters, you should be able to keep your mouth shut." _You're going to regret it if you don't, Pink Boy. _She didn't say the final sentence, but she didn't have to. It was perfectly clear in her tone.

Inui raised one eyebrow and scribbled in his notebook, muttering under his breath. "What kind of data could you possibly be getting from something like this?" I demanded. Inui smiled creepily. _Stalker._

"That's creepy," Kazuko said, drawing out the _a_ so the word was almost sung, "'m gonna escape now, then," she said, waving her hand behind her as she mixed with the crowd.

"Someone like that . . ." I scowled, "Nothing but trouble." Eiji grinned and slapped my back with excessive force.

"Someone like that is interesting!" Eiji crowed. I just dropped my head in defeat.

"I'll just focus on tennis now," I scowled, "And let Ayame take care of herself."

"That's the spirit!" Eiji agreed enthusiastically. It didn't take a genius to find the meaning behind his glee: _Now we can do what we want without interference._

Really, I hate trying to play their conscience. I think it's a waste of time.

* * *

AN: This was maybe shorter than it could have been, but it's long enough for me. Sorry. Reviews are appreciated, and maybe some ideas on how to finish this? *Hopeful smile* If nobody says anything, then I'll come up with something on my own, but it's starting to wind down and I want to know what other people think about a possible ending . . .


	11. Chapter 10: The End

Disclaimer: Prince of Tennis doesn't belong to me. _Obviously._

**This Means War**

Ayame

A rare occurrence happened on a sunny Saturday morning in early March. I woke up early on a weekend.

It wasn't on purpose, but I found myself staring at my ceiling at only 7:30 in the morning. Deciding that getting back to sleep was futile, I climbed out of bed and got ready to face another day. Until about 11:00, I stayed restlessly in my house, alternately working on homework I should have started days ago and fiddling with various programs on my computer.

At last, I decided that I needed to get out or I was going to literally drive myself insane. I pulled on a jacket and left the house, my parents wouldn't care. I usually wandered on the weekends anyway, and they knew I could take care of myself. Normally I would hang around with friends, or spend the day in the library in the 'how-to' section reading all of the instruction manuals for dummies. Unusual reading material, I know, but it's what I've always preferred from the usual teenage romance novels. I'd tried reading them once, and had quickly decided the characters and plots were one-dimensional and pointless. They seemed like a meaningless waste of time to me.

Today, though, I wasn't in the mood to read. For a moment, I considered visiting Kondo, but then remembered that I wasn't speaking to him at the moment.

Thinking of Kondo, however, made me think of tennis, and I remembered that he had a match today; against some rich school whose cheering squad was pretty infamous. _That ought to be amusing; _I decided and walked through the streets, weaving through the small crowds of people hurrying along the sidewalk. I arrived at the bus stop just as the bus was about to pull away, but luckily the bus driver saw me and stopped.

I was on good terms with this particular driver, because this bus was his regular route and I often used it to get out of the inner city where I lived to school and other places on the outskirts and suburbs. He waited for me to climb on the bus, greeted me cheerily, and drove away from the sidewalk. I settled in a seat halfway to the back of the bus, looking out the window at the threatening clouds.

As the bus pulled around to another stop, before the one I intended to get off on, a cluster of boys about my age, maybe younger, entered the bus. There were eight of them, and they entered in groups of two and three, chattering at each other loudly.

My 'tennis player' senses started tingling.

Seriously, though, I could tell just by looking at them that they were cut from the same cloth as the Seigaku Regulars. I automatically tried to make myself as inconspicuous as possible to avoid catching the attention of these unfavorable, though oddly familiar, people.

Unfortunately, luck wasn't going my way. I simultaneously realized where I'd seen the boys before and saw Tachibana An board the bus. She recognized me, as well, and grinned like I'd just made her day. "Ayame!" she called cheerily. I did my best to give everyone but An the cold shoulder while I acknowledged her.

"Morning, An," I said, "You're going to the tennis match, too, I assume?" She nodded and smiled, then turned to the boy behind her.

"Nii-san, this is Ayame. You remember her? She came to visit once," she introduced me. I looked at the boy for a moment, trying to place his face, and then realized with a start who he was.

"Ah ha! You're Kami-taichou*," I said, "I didn't know An was your little sister." _If An is the younger sister of the god of the Fudomine cult worship, what does that make her? A demi-god? A spirit?_ I wondered.

The boy with red hair certainly looked at her like she was a demi-god. Kami-taichou looked at me, confused. "What did you just call me?" he asked.

"Well, your team kind of treats you like a god, so . . ." I shrugged. "You will be Kami-taichou." An was bent over laughing, the tennis team was staring at me with expressions ranging from thinking I was the devil incarnate to utterly confused. Kami-taichou himself looked lost, he clearly didn't know what to say.

An recovered and plopped down next to me, with Kami-taichou sitting across the aisle. "Yep," she said, and then, "But what are you doing going to a tennis match? I thought you didn't like tennis."

"I never said I didn't like tennis," I shrugged, "Only that I didn't like the players. Either way, the team Seishun is playing against are supposed to be world-class arses, so it should be funny, if nothing else." Kami-taichou started laughing, and I shot him a dry glare. "What?"

"You would know if you had met Atobe," he smiled, "World-class arse is an . . . interesting description." I assumed Atobe was a player for the opposing team, and I hadn't met him, so I let Kami-taichou have his fun and shrugged it off.

"I think this is you kids' stop," the bus driver called, pulling up to a stop about a block away from the tennis courts. I thanked him and hurried off the bus, with An dogging my steps. It couldn't be helped, I supposed, because we were going to the same place. As we approached the tennis courts, I heard screams of "The winner will be Hyotei! The winner will be Hyotei!" over and over. I turned to An and asked, "What's a Hyotei?"

"Hyotei is the opposing school," An said, shaking her head at my ignorance. "The 'world class arses?'"

"Yeah," I said as we walked into the view of the tennis courts and I saw chanting sea of blue and grey uniforms, "I'd say I was right on target, wouldn't you?" An laughed, but didn't say anything else. She led me to the other side of the courts, which were more sparsely populated by Seishun students.

Among the small crowd of students from my school, I saw one pleasantly familiar face. "Taka-san!" I called, waving to him. I hadn't spoken to him for awhile, but he didn't look like he'd changed much. Only he was a lot . . . bigger. Taka was tall and strong; he made me feel like I was standing next to a skyscraper, or something.

He smiled when he saw me and waved me over. I turned to An and asked her, "Want to come support Seishun with me? Kami knows Hyotei had enough cheerleaders already."

An laughed, "I was planning on it. Tezuka's my older brother's friend, sort of, and I really don't have much to do the Hyotei." I lead An over and sat on Taka's open side, An next to me.

"How have you been, Taka?" I asked him, glancing at the D1 match that was currently going on. It seemed that we had gotten there a little bit late. Seigaku had won the first match, 7-5. I imagine it was pretty dramatic, because the tennis club is better at creating a scene than the drama club themselves.

Right now the doubles match was in Hyotei's favor, 4-2. Momoshiro and Kaidou had become a very efficient doubles pair sometime in the past few years, and they were now trying to take on a short, skinny red head that seemed to have a lot of unnecessary movements in his playing and a blue-haired boy with glasses that the Hyotei fan girls kept squealing over.

"Oh, you know," Taka smiled, answering my earlier question. "I'm doing well in my chef training, my dad says, but I miss tennis."

"Ah," I said. I didn't understand the feeling at all – I never missed a club once I abandoned it. "I see you still come to the games, though."

"I do whenever I can," Taka admitted, "The team is really strong this year. It's like the revival of Seigaku's Golden Generation."

Golden Generation had become a common nickname in the tennis world for the sudden growth of powerful middle school tennis players that occurred three years ago. Anyone who had been a regular on one of the national-level schools at the time had become nicknamed a 'Golden Generation' player.

"Sort of looks like it, doesn't it?" I said, "All their missing is Oishi – and you, of course."

"Kondo's doing well, though," Taka smiled, "He's got the same sort of congenial personality as Oishi – he and Kikumaru make a fine doubles pair."

"Huh," I said. Once again, I was out of my league. I know nothing about tennis other than 'Hit the ball to the other side and try to keep the other person from hitting it back.'

The doubles match ended in Hyotei's favor, though for a second it had looked like Momoshiro and Kaidou were going to make a comeback. There was a generally dramatic course of 'good game', and singles 3 started. It was Fuji versus a strange fellow that had been sleeping on the bench since I got there, but then suddenly acted like he was on a sugar high as soon as he got on the court.

Taka was analyzing the game to me, and I was just sort of grunting, pretending to understand.

Taka, Kami-taichou, An, and I chatted as Fuji (dramatically) claimed singles 3. As Tezuka started Singles 2, I heard my name from behind me.

"What are you doing here?" Kondo asked, sitting on the bleacher behind me. I spun around and folded my arms defensively across my chest.

"Nothing better to do," I snapped, "Got a problem?"

"Not at all," he said, in a relaxed tone. "More pleased that you're speaking to me again, actually."

I growled at him under my breath, and then said, "I've already had my revenge, after all."

"Hmm," Kondo said, "I've already survived, then, good. You'll get distracted soon again, won't you?"

"Distracted?" An interrupted, "What do you mean?"

"A lot of this pranking and stuff," I explained, "Was for my entertainment. Tezuka and the tennis team just made a good target because they're annoying."

"Is that really okay?" An said, "Picking on people for your entertainment?"

"Probably not," I shrugged, "But they deserved it, anyway. It's about time someone showed them they're not the center of the universe."

"I suppose," An said, not sounding sure, "They're not that bad, though, are they? They've always seemed friendly, helpful, all that stuff."

"They don't seem to realize there's a world outside tennis," I decided, "People like that annoy me. Besides, Tezuka called me a fan girl."

"Geez," Kondo said, "You're still angry about that?"

"Of course," I said, "Not necessarily angry, anymore, though. I'm sort of bored with them now."

"Figures," Kondo said, "You have no attention span. Maybe it's for the best, since exams are coming up soon."

"Don't remind me," I instructed him, "Still, I'm planning something special for Tezuka before I give up entirely."

"Like what?" Kondo asked.

"I'm not sure," I said, "I could put itching powder in his shoes, or break into his locker and fill it with porn. Or both."

"Poor Tezuka," Kondo said, shaking his head, "He never really did anything to you, you know."

"He's too good," I told him, "And he's got a holier-than-though attitude, and he should be off playing professional tennis, not at a high school bothering me."

"He can't play professional tennis," Kondo said, "At least not full time."

"Why not?" I asked. It intrigued me that Tezuka might have such a serious weakness. I wondered how I could exploit it.

"His arm," Kondo explained, "It can't take the constant stress. It's okay for a tournament or two, but if he pushes it to hard he'll just hurt it again."

I scowled. Not only was that a weakness I couldn't exploit, it gave him a martyr look that ascended him to domains I wasn't supposed to pick on. "I really am going to put itching powder in his shoes," I announced, throwing all respect for his hardships out the window.

"Where are you going to get itching powder?" An asked. The others around us had been alternating between listening to our conversation and watching the tennis matches progress.

"I know a place," I smiled mysteriously. Taka shivered.

* * *

Seigaku had won, 3-1, rather to the pleasure of the lazy little freshman playing Singles 1. (And less to the pleasure of 'Ore-sama', who I had learned was nicknamed Monkey King – I thought it suited him.)

I took the subway and then ducked through an alleyway on one side of town. It lead to a raggedy little collection of shops – a ramen shack, a racquet stringer, and, most importantly to me, a small joke shop.

Sliding open the thin paper door, I walked in. An old man sitting at the counter looked up. "May I help you?" he asked with a smile.

"I need itching powder. Something powerful," I told him. He moved, with surprising agility for someone his age, across the shop and handed me a small, black shaker.

"That will be 850 yen," he told me, and I paid him.

"Thanks," I told him. The old man was Kazuko's uncle. Her parents hated it when she went to see him, because he was a shameless prankster and had caused Kazuko to be the way she was now.

A pretty cool old dude, if you ask me.

* * *

It was the next week, on Sunday. The tennis team and I had pretty much avoided clashing because of their tournament and the upcoming exams had kept us too busy for anything else. It was also about 1:00 AM. I snuck out of my room, slipped on my shoes, and snuck through the streets.

The city at night is a livelier place than you'd expect. It had started raining on Friday and hadn't stopped since, but I was running out of time, so I put up with it. There were a variety of people that it would be a bad idea to associate with littering the streets, hurrying along with their heads down and their hands in the their pockets.

Do not try this at home, kids. It's dangerous to wander the streets at night, even if you can take care of yourself in a fight like I can. I had a backpack that contained my supplies for the night and a variety of surgical knives stored in my coat to use as weapons.

I moved quickly down the streets, avoiding the sleepy curfew police, and soon arrived in front of the school. I climbed over the wall, and made my way towards the mudroom. There was a small camera by the door, but that was easily dispatched by cutting the unconcealed wires leading to it.

Using lock picks borrowed from Kazuko earlier in the week, I slipped into the locker room, and located the locker I was looking for.

This time, I had done my research properly. Spying on the tennis club members as they retrieved their belongings had made me certain which one belonged to Tezuka. I opened it without much difficulty.

His indoor shoes were there, as I expected. I inconspicuously coated the inside with the white itching powder, and carefully replaced them.

Then I made my way through the hallways. I found Tezuka's school locker, which happened to be quite near mine, (so I knew who it belonged to) and opened it. I set the contents of the bag I was carrying right in the front of the locker, closed it again with a smirk.

Gathering my things, I snuck back out of the school. The clouds had eclipsed the sky, and the rain was coming down harder now, filling the gutters with rushing little rivers. Hurrying through the pelting water, I made it home by 1:45, with no one the wiser.

When I crawled back into bed, I was still smiling to myself.

* * *

Kondo

I waited outside Ayame's house as she made wandered out of her house Monday morning. She walked sleepily out and muttered, "Sorry, overslept."

"Doesn't matter," I said, "But we better hurry, or we really will be late." She nodded, shook her head to clear it, and marched quickly off towards the school. I followed her, catching up easily.

We arrived at school just in time to rush to our respective classrooms and slide into our seats.

In second period, Tezuka looked oddly fidgety, which was extremely out of character for him. I knew why, from Ayame's suppressed giggling. I had to respect him, for being able to put up with whatever Ayame had done to his shoes. She looked like was a little disappointed at his reaction, but enjoying what she could.

Ayame followed Tezuka out of second period to his locker. At first, I didn't see anything wrong with it, and then I realized what Ayame had said about putting porn in his locker.

I spun around, ready to stop Tezuka, or at least warn him. But I was too late. He had already opened the locker.

To my surprise, a variety of perverted magazines did not come pouring out of his locker. Instead, he paused for a moment, before lifting out a pink-painted tennis ball. Written on the side were three words – "Act your age!"

Tezuka looked around, and it didn't take him long to find Ayame and meet her eyes. She stuck her tongue out childishly and flounced off. I walked over to Tezuka's side. "Don't worry," I told him, "This is her way of calling a truce."

"I see," he said, but his real thoughts were clearly visible (clearly being a relative term) on his face. _Weird way to do it._

Ayame came and watched tennis practice after school. Tezuka had to skip practice today due because something was wrong with his feet, so there was no one to tell her off. She spent most of practice taunting the non-regulars because she could hit harder than they could. Arai started to shout at her at one point, but showed unpredicted intelligence by shutting up after she hit his nose and made it bleed.

As the days passed, she and Eiji started to get along unexpectedly well. They shared the common bond of Oishi's sister, as well as the love of tricks (though Eiji was considerably more good natured than Ayame.)

Through out the last months of high school, Ayame became a fairly diligent supporter of the Seigaku tennis team. We went all the way to the championship, where we lost to Rikkai Dai. (It had to happen some time. They proved to be considerably more difficult to beat after Yukimura had fully thrown off his illness.) She and Tezuka never really hit it off, but they learned to tolerate each other's presence.

We took our final exams, and went our separate ways. Tezuka went to Germany, and the third years of the tennis team scattered across Japan. Ayame went to med school, and graduated surprisingly high in her class. Her parents wanted her to stay close to home; because her brother travelled all over the world and they wanted one child to stay by them.

She promptly started looking for a job in Europe, and eventually found one. I would be moving to Sendai in a few weeks, but I took time out of my schedule to see her off. When I asked her where she was going, she was vague. "Some rehab center for injured athletes," she said, "Sports medicine."

It wasn't until she'd already gotten on the plane that I realized she'd neglected to mention which country the rehab center was in.

* * *

Ayame

Germany is a surprisingly sunny country. It's quite a bit farther north than Tokyo, but it was warm. I left my apartment, wove through the tourist-y town that I had moved to, and to my new place of work – a large center that focused mostly on tennis players. It was a place where professional players that had overstressed their bodies tended to gravitate, though there were also more severe cases.

I met my new boss, who I initially decided was not entirely unpleasant. He was a slightly pot-bellied man that looked as though he'd been very strong a long time ago, but had dropped his exercise regime as he hit middle age. He was very accommodating of my still-developing German.

A little too accommodating, in fact. "You're working as a physical therapist, and a doctor," he told me with a smile; "The athletes that you work with will also have a coach, for when they reach the later stages of their recovery. One of our coaches, who also works as a professional player, comes from Japan like you."

I suddenly got a really horrible, inexplicable sinking feeling in my gut. "He'll be your partner," my boss told me, "And he'll be able to help you learn the language, as well. He should be here any minute."

As if on cue, there was a knock at the door. My boss called for the person to come in, and as soon as the door opened, my breath caught in shock. _God must hate me, _I decided, as I watched a tall, brown-haired man enter the room.

"Ayame, this is Tezuka Kunimitsu," my boss introduced me new partner. As all the blood finished draining out of my face, and I finally regained my powers of speech, I said the only three words in the world that could properly encompass the situation.

"What the _**hell**?_"

* * *

*Ayame is calling Tachibana 'Captian God.'

* * *

A/N: And so it ends. As you may have noticed from reading this chapter, I really, really suck at ending stories. As such, this is a temporary ending. That's also why it took so long – I suffered much writers block.

**Contact me about loose ends, and I will do my best to edit this to tie them up.** A sequel is not impossible, but extremely unlikely, and if I were to write one, it would certainly be quite unlike this one, because it would probably mostly end up being set in Germany. Which is why a sequel is not in planning. Please, please review. Because I finally managed to finish this.


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